Beautiful Blood
by bohemian-nomad
Summary: Modern Retelling of Beauty and the Beast, but with a twist. The beast is a vampire and beauty is a spunky, technologically savvy, bookworm. And getting her to marry him won't be enough to break the curse.
1. The Beast

The Beast

Thomas Brea looked at the mansion. Directly in front of him, past the iron gate was the central block, nearly fifty-feet tall and fifty-six feet across. Flanking the sides were two, long rectangular blocks covered with ashen windows. Historically they would have been stables and servants quarters. The house could have been attractive; if the windows were sparkling, the paint refreshed, the lawn green, and the sun out. Otherwise it was desolate.

Thomas looked at his watch: seven forty-six. In a little over an hour it would be dark, and he would be hopelessly lost. But what even made him think something in that structure could help him? As far as he could tell, nobody had so much as looked at this place in awhile. Still…it couldn't hurt to at least look around. The structure, if anything, was historically and architecturally intriguing. The statues in the font lawn and bricked exterior suggested Baroque influence. Quite peculiar, considering Europeans weren't spotted in the area until around the late-seventeen hundreds just as the Baroque period was dwindling down. Even so, he sincerely doubted the first colonists built a massive Baroque monument in the middle of the woods. And it was better than sitting in his car looking at a map of Canada for the next half hour.

So, tipping his head to one side he pushed against the gate. It turned on its hinges with a rusty grind. Thomas stepped carefully over the threshold of crunchy, beige grass and proceeded towards the mansion. As he walked and walked, it seemed as if the house never got any closer. Looking ahead he could see it clearly several feet away, but it's figure remained fixed. At one point he turned around to gauge the distance between him and the gate to see if he had even moved, but it too seemed fixed. Troubled, but unwilling to give up his mission, Thomas pressed forward. At last, just before the sun fell under the horizon he reached the statue guarding the entryway. The sun's last murderous rays pierced the air to hit the twisted statue: it was the most disturbing piece of art Thomas had ever seen. It was a woman, her face tilted towards the sky, a serious mouth pursed in pain. An arm grabbed towards the stars, its fingers bent in agitation. This itself was a moving, passionate piece: what disturbed him was the tall figure behind her, seizing her waist, and the smile on the plaster face revealing elongated canines, angled towards her perfect neck. The girl's other arm reached up to cradle his head. The statue was bathed in blood red light.

Thomas felt his heart falter. Swallowing he moved past and headed towards the doors. He was able to reach them much quicker than before. Reaching for the brass handle, he recoiled: what if, contrary to the appearance, someone did live here? Thinking it wouldn't look good to be caught in a stranger's house, his hand picked up the knocker and rapped it three times. Stepping back, he waited. The sun fell completely over the edge, dimming the world. A wolf cried somewhere in the night, making Thomas shiver. Perhaps he try again, just to be sure no one was here. Thomas knocked again, louder this time. He was answered by a squeak. The door swung in towards darkness.

"Hello?" the door opened wider. "Is anyone there?" A stray wind wandered out and wrapped its chilly fingers around him, nudging him towards the darkness. Panicked at so strong an improbable sensation Thomas dug his heels into the concrete. The wind was unable to move him and consented to billowing past him in the direction of the house—almost as if pointing out the way. The battle continued on until Thomas heard another wolf scream, sounding as if it were waiting for him at the car door just outside the iron gate. Hurrying in, Thomas heard the door softly swing shut behind him. He wrapped his arms around him, trying to shake off a cold dread and panicking heart. When he felt as if his heart had ceased rapid fire, he called out again:

"Is anyone there?" No answer. He let out a gush of air: it was all in his mind. His sleep deprived and anxious mind had created a phantasm of air. How silly! Laughing at himself he looked around the mansion. He stood in the middle of a large black and white tiled foyer. To his right was an antiquated side table with a tortoise-shell snuff- box and a silver-faced clock. To the left was a matching table with a vase of fresh yellow roses. So someone had been here recently. Peering through the thick dimness he thought he could discern a grand staircase straight ahead. Maybe he should try calling from the bottom of the stairs: perhaps they were sleeping. In which case he would feel like a terrible imposition. But which was worse: being woken up by a stranger calling for you in the foyer, or waking up and finding a stranger walking around your foyer? Carefully placing one foot in front of the other he stepped towards the staircase. But suddenly an agitated air stream pushed him off course. Staggering from shock, Thomas fell sideways. While trying to regain his equilibrium the wind pushed him from behind. Compelled to go straight he stumbled onward, letting the wind guide him.

The wind led him down a hallway buffed by intricate Persian rugs and lined with beautiful tapestries. Yuan dynasty vases (judging from the calligraphy on the sides), bronzed statues, and jeweled boxes sat strikingly on tables. Interested, Thomas tried to stop and examine the items, but the wind insisted they keep moving. By the time they arrived at a black door, Thomas had become use to the wind guiding him along, and trusted it. Of its own accord the door opened and the wind gently prodded Thomas in. A flash of orange blasted through the room, illuminating a gorgeous ebony table laden with various silver dishes. Blinking twice, Thomas tried to quickly adjust his eyes to the firelight, least he miss something. But he couldn't see anyone or anything that might have suddenly lit the fire in the five-foot fireplace.

Baffled, he allowed the wind to steer him towards a highly decorative chair to the right of the head. He sat down, his mind screaming the improbability of it all. The wind didn't seem to care about its probability of existence and started to serve Thomas from one of the many silver platters. A host of wonderful smells invaded his nostrils and seized his attention—he hadn't eaten since stopping for lunch back in Detroit. Looking down his eyes jumped: before him lay the most fantastic feast he had ever seen! Whole legs of pork, dozens of quail eggs, mounds of potatoes, heaps of bread, and every other thing you could imagine at a king's banquet. Without scruples, Thomas dug in relishing the taste.

He ate until he thought it might all come back up. Everything he had eaten was incomparably delicious, melting on his tongue and dancing around his taste buds. Glancing around anxiously, he wondered whom to thank; but no host presented themselves so he settled on nodding to the air and saying 'thank you' aloud. The wind immediately picked up and swept him out of his chair and out of the dining room. This time it led him back towards the front door. They cantered all the way back and made their way to the right side of the grand staircase. Weaving through several doors and hallways, Thomas discovered himself in one of the wings. The carpet, a deep, plush vermillion, reminiscent of an opera house, clothed the floor. There were no expensive knick-knacks on this side of the building: only practical appliances and one or two landscape paintings. About half way from the entrance to the wing, another door opened on Thomas' left and the wind steered him in. A flash of white revealed a modern style bedroom outfitted with electric lights. A king size bed pressed against the right side of the wall, directly across from another functional fireplace. Two tiny tables flanked the bed as well as an armchair near the fireplace. Straight ahead Thomas could see a full moon rising behind a dusty coat of glass.

The wind nudged Thomas towards the bed and started to blow up his shirt. Giggling at the tickling sensation, Thomas crossed his arms at his stomach to keep the wind out. The wind kept insisting though and eventually managed to whisk his shirt off and replace it with a long, soft cotton nightgown. A fire sparked to life with a crack in the fireplace, causing Thomas to start. His jumpy attitude soon wore off though and left him feeling warm and sleepy. He shouldn't have drunk wine at dinner. The wind had no problem taking his jeans off. Getting drowsier and drowsier, climbing into the smooth sheets was almost a dream. And as the wind pulled the sheets up to his stubbled chin, he began to drift into a dream.

Thomas was awoken first by the smell of bacon and then the sunlight. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes he lamented morning's early arrival. He had not had such a good sleep since before his wife died. By the time he cleared his eyes of fog, the wind had brought to his lap a silver tray laden with crackling bacon, steaming eggs, buttery toast, and pulpy orange juice. Less spectacular than last night's feast, it was by no means less delectable. Thomas finished the entire meal. At it's completion the silver tray floated away and the wind shooed him out of bed to redress him in clothes freshly pressed. What service! He thought with a laugh as his old, beat-up shirt slid over his head. Still it was all very peculiar: invisible hands, meals without an origin, lack of personnel to speak with. Yes, it was strange indeed.

Falling into the first stage of sleep last night, he had had an epiphany that answered all the peculiar questions regarding the mansion. Obviously a reclusive, wealthy genius had the house built following the schematics of Seaton Delaval Hall in England. And to keep strangers at bay he had devised the world's most ingenious tour guide system. The halls and rooms had to be lined with motion-sensor air-jets. You walk by and the air-jet puffs out a stream of air to 'steer' you to a designated area. The more off-course you got, the stronger the air blasts. Though he couldn't figure out how objects such as platters and clothes moved of their own accord, he had no doubt there was a logical explanation. Thomas had to meet this genius and generous host face to face. The things he could discuss with another inventor! Determined to meet a peer, Thomas strode towards the door with a beaming face. Out in the hall the air jets started again, pushing him towards the end of the corridor where it connected to the main house. Thomas let it guide him along toying with the notion that it would lead him to its creator. So, when it forcefully pushed him out the door, the vision vanished. Upset, Thomas turned around and sharply knocked on the door with the brass knocker. No one answered. He knocked again. Nothing. Annoyed more at himself for not resisting the air-jets sooner, Thomas stalked down the steps and was taken aback by the sight of his car. Someone had brought it up from the gates. Curious, he approached and plucked off a piece of paper caught between the windshield and the wiper.

_It would be to your advantage to leave the woods before dark._

Thomas spun around and looked at the mansion. Who was in there? What genius had locked himself away from the world? He had to find out. He had to let him know that he also was another misunderstood intellect who only wanted to talk. He had to meet this man. Or woman. Perhaps there was another entrance around back. Determined to find this contemporary, Thomas trekked around the eastern wing towards the back, following the sun's lead. It seemed to take hours before he finally reached a ten-foot stonewall, draped in ivy, surrounding a patch of land behind the mansion. It had to be some sort of garden. Thomas cursed his luck, as he walked the perimeter looking for an entrance. Fate obviously did not want him to meet this other inventor. After walking the length and width of one side (which took him until the sun hit zenith), Thomas finally found an entrance at the corner where the width and length met. It was a small oak door, inlaid with dark iron, nestled amongst the ivy. Invisible if you weren't looking for it. He tried the handle and to his great astonishment it opened: he was expecting a struggle. Pleased and confident at this small piece of luck, Thomas crept into the garden.

At first he couldn't believe his eyes: the entire garden was behaving as if it were a pleasant May day instead of a chilly October one. The grass was springy and emerald, carpeting the ground beneath the heavy pomegranate trees. Delicate, porcelain lilies danced in the wind as simple daisies kept time. A small pond lay in the middle waiting for the vegetation to creep down towards it. He would have taken a few more steps in except the back wall of the garden captured his attention.

Thomas tread softly towards the wall, his face covered in awe. Upon the back wall was a sort of rose shrine. Rose bushes clustered before the wall as the rest climbed up it. Crimson, cream, coral, and cadmium all peeked their heads out, to see the sun. How was it possible that roses were still thriving at this time of the year? Thomas looked at them, his mouth agape. They were so beautiful. If only Amara, his youngest daughter, could see them. She loved roses. Maybe if he picked one and kept it in the water bottle in the car it would survive the drive home. She would be delighted to have one last rose before winter came. Thomas looked around to see if anyone was there. No one. Well at least now he could say he took it without asking because no one was there to ask. Bending down carefully, he lightly grasped the stem of a golden rose and snapped it downwards.

A noise, caught between a hiss and roar, resounded throughout the garden causing Thomas to fall backwards. A train of clouds thundered towards the sun, blocking out its warming rays and turning the world stormy. Lightening exploded against the sky illuminating the garden. The wind began ripping the leaves off the trees and blowing them in Thomas' face. Sputtering he tried to stand up but couldn't. A light sparked and Thomas screamed. A figure! A dark, tall man was looming before him. Where had he come from? Thunder cracked overhead, nearly giving Thomas a heart attack. The light flashed again: the man was still there.

"Hello?" Thomas called weakly.

"You insolent old fool!" The figure boomed, his voice low and dark. "How dare you take my rose! After the kind and generous reception I bestowed upon you, you dare take the only thing that gives me joy? You impudent old man!" Thomas threw his face towards the ground and held out his hands in a show of prostration.

"Please! Please forgive me! I did not mean to trespass! It's just my daughter, she loves roses, and yours are so beautiful, I just thought…"

"You thought what? That you might take advantage of my hospitality further? You will pay for your insolence."

"Please, forgive me! I did not mean to!"

"For your impertinence you will die." Thomas felt his heart contract and squeeze tight.

"Please," he gasped, "please sir! I have daughters at home who depend on me! Don't rob them of their father."

"Someone must pay for this crime,"

"I'll do anything you wish," Thomas choked, the tears running down his face and blinding him. "Please, just let me see my daughters one last time." The lightening ceased, the wind became a breeze, and the thunder was reduced to a soft cackle.

"Anything?" Thomas did not like the sound of that at all, but he couldn't go back on his word after he had already disproved himself in front of this man.

"Yes,"

"Give me one of your daughters,"

"What?! No! Leave them out of this," Thomas cried.

"You're the one that brought them into this,"

"I would never turn one of my daughters over to stranger to do God-knows-what to her!"

"She would come to no harm," the man reassured, walking casually around to another rose bush. Thomas strained to make out his face as he bent to smell a large bud, "It is only that I am in want of a companion. Someone to talk to. This is a large house in the middle of the woods."

"Then take me! I will be your companion."

"Old men do not nearly have the same plasticity as young women do." Thomas' face blanched. "You would like to see your daughters again wouldn't you Mr. Brea?"

"Yes," Thomas mumbled, his heart sinking.

"Then go to them,"

"Oh thank you! Thank you!" Thomas cried, rising to his feet.

"But," the figure interrupted, moving closer to Thomas, "You must return to this place by the next full moon. Either by yourself, or with one of your daughters." Thomas scrutinized the figure.

"Who are you?" The figure chuckled, a sound akin to a wolf's bark.

"I'm not sure you want the answer to that, Mr. Brea," as he spoke the lightening lit the sky, perfectly illuminating the tall, dark man before him. The man was smiling wickedly, two perfect, tear shaped canines grazing his bottom lip.


	2. Amara

**Amara**

"Amara please put down your book and come eat with us." Aurora chided gently from the3 kitchen.

"I'm almost done," Amara called from the arms of an overstuffed blue chair. The comfy, chintz chair in Papa's study was her favorite in the entire house: and she didn't like leaving it for anything other than natural disasters.

"What? Fifty more pages?" Allene teased from the kitchen.

"No!" Amara retorted, turning a page, "thirty-six." The dinnerware clattered musically to accompany her sisters' laughter.

"Come eat bookworm."

" Alright, alright," she grumbled, jamming the bookmark into _Sophie's World_''s crease. Untangling herself from her reading position, Amara proceeded to the kitchen. Sitting in her usual place, Amara smiled at Aurora's creativity with the mash potatoes—now in the shape of a sun with flecks of gold in the creamy white.

"I don't understand why you have to mix the corn in with the potatoes." Allene grimaced picking out the hated vegetable.

"It's festive! And don't think that just because Papa isn't here, that you don't have to eat your veggies," Aurora sat down in her spot to the right of the head with authority. Allene and Amara snorted in their mash potatoes.

"It'd be much more convincing if you hadn't said 'veggies' in your kindergarten voice," Amara quipped.

"Oh dear," Aurora lamented covering her mouth with a dainty hand, "that happens more than you know. I was talking to my supervisor a few days ago and he started to tell me about he school's attempt to raise money for more kindergarten field trips and I replied, 'oh that's wonderful! Just lovely!' in that exact voice too! I felt so idiotic!"

"It's alright. We all do it. Sometimes I walk down the street and see a dog and start to check its gums before realizing I'm not at the veterinary clinic." The three girls laughed before Aurora and Allene turned to Amara with penetrating stares.

"What?" Amara asked between bites of meat loaf.

"Any confessions? Or should we just start with the charges?" Asked Allene playfully.

"I have nothing to account for,"

"Do you even do any work? Or do you just read everyday?"

"I work. And I read. I work while I read."

"No wonder people call us strange! Listen to us!" Aurora smiled starting to clear the dishes from the faded wood table.

"No, people call Papa and me strange. You two are the normal ones." Amara's face pinched and she traced the swirls in the old oak table.

"Oh. Oh my dear, you mustn't let them get to you," abandoning her dishes, Aurora scurried over to envelope Amara in a hug.

"Yeah. They're just jealous. Don't listen to them, Amara."

"I don't. It's just…its hard sometimes. Being the only one."

"Oh," Aurora whimpered, squeezing Amara tighter. Allene stood up to join in the group hug. Amara smiled from within her older sisters.

"It's okay. Librarians and inventors are the usual scapegoats." The girls laughed and pulled away. "Where is Papa anyway?"

The girls exchanged anxious glances. Aurora started tugging on her golden braid and Allene looked down at the floor. This only induced more panic in Amara.

"Where is he? Why isn't he home yet? He said he'd be home on Sunday."

"Don't panic Amara. We're not sure where Papa is. We haven't heard from him since he stopped in Detroit yesterday."

"He left a message on my cell phone," Allene contributed.

"But Detroit's not that far. It's only four hours from here. Where could he be?" Amara reasoned a deep cut forming across her forehead. Aurora reached in for another hug, but before she could a bang echoed through the house causing all three to jump.

"Girls!" Their father's voice screamed. Looking at one another in confusion—they had never heard their father yell before. "Girls! Aurora! Allene! Amara! Oh God. Answer me!" Amara was the first to push through the kitchen door, followed closely by Aurora.

"Papa?" The man in the doorway was greyer and more haggard than her dear Papa. But into his outstretched arms she ran.

"Papa we were so worried. Why didn't you come back yesterday?" Amara could feel the old man's tears plop onto her head.

"Not here. Not here my darlings," the man released Amara to briefly hug her sisters, "to the kitchen." Allene ran ahead to open the kitchen door while Aurora and Amara helped their father in. He fell into the chair exhausted, his hands coming up to slick back his grey-streaked hair.

"Water. Get some water," Allene commanded in her best doctor voice—Amara wondered if she said the same thing to her veterinary technician. Rushing to obey, Aurora ran to a cabinet and flung open its doors, looking for the nearest cup. Amara bent down beside her father to see what comfort she could provide to his downcast eyes. Alighting a hand on his knee, she noticed something clutched in his grasp. Fascinated, Amara stretched out tentative fingers and took the object from his hand.

"'Huhn," Amara sucked in a quick breath as her fingertips buckled and broke under the pressure of a thorn. The blood trickled out highlighting the veins in the rose's golden flesh perfectly.

"Blood. No. No, no, no, no!" Thomas grabbed the injured hand and attempted to sop the bleeding by applying pressure.

"Papa, its alright. It's just a little cut." Gently, she tried to pry her hand away, but Thomas snatched it back.

"Get me a towel! A bandage. Something! Anything!" Allene moved to comply with the fast order as Aurora set down a glass of water near Thomas' elbow. Peering over her father's shoulder, Aurora scrunched her face when she saw the damage. Aurora and Amara exchanged quizzical glances: why was their father freaking out over such a minor thing? Allene returned with a cotton swab, an antiseptic, and a bandage. Grabbing the swab out of his daughter's hands, Thomas quickly pressed it to Amara's finger.

"Have to stop the blood. Oh please don't let this be sign. Please don't let it stain."

"Papa its alright! It's just a tiny knick." Amara reached to untangle his weathered fingers form her bloody ones—now that time had passed the cut seemed to leak even more. Throwing her hand away from him, Thomas turned and sobbed. The girls stared at one another in alarm---the last time they had seen their father cry was at their mother's funeral.

"That cursed rose. That damn bloody rose. What have I done? What have I done?" Turning completely away from his daughters, Thomas' whole body began to contract with sobs.

"Papa," Aurora ventured cautiously laying a soft hand on his shoulder, "what's wrong?" Thomas turned to look at his daughter's with bleary eyes.

"I have doomed us all." Startled, the girls looked around at one another.

"Papa? Papa, what's wrong?" Amara asked readjusting her legs beneath her. Her sisters crowded behind her, knowing if anyone could get the answer from their father it was Amara.

"Oh my darlings. The things I have seen! Oh God, the," something in Thomas' throat snagged and caused him to choke.

"Papa!" Amara cried and reached up for him. Placing a delicate hand on his shoulder, she felt his frame shudder underneath her.

"My dears, what I am about to tell you is the strangest story you will ever hear." Afraid to rush him, the girls waited breathlessly. Taking a deep breath Thomas readied himself. "On my way home from the convention I tried to take a short-cut through the woods and got lost. After driving around for a few hours I came upon an iron gate. And behind the gate was a massive house exactly like Seaton Deveal hall,"

"What's Seaton Deveal Hall?" Allene whispered to Aurora.

"It's a mansion," Amara answered over her shoulder, "in England."

"I went up to the house and knocked. No one answered. I knocked again. And this time the door swung open. I called out but no one answered. All of a sudden the wind picked up and pushed me in, slamming the door shut behind me. I then got pushed all through the house. What a gorgeous house! The artifacts in there must have been worth thousands. There were, uh…tortoise-shell snuffboxes, Chinese vases, and crystal figures. The wind took me to a dining room and invisible hands served me. I dined in a medieval hall! And then the wind took me to a bedroom, but it was modern. There were fluorescent lights and a bed. I spent the night. And when I woke up in the morning I went into the garden—it was the most beautiful garden I've ever seen! —And there were flowers and trees everywhere! In bloom!" The entire time Thomas told his story his arms gestured wildly and his eyes flung wide open. He seemed mad with trauma, but the girls listened patiently, wondering what happed to their father.

"And there was this entire section of roses. What beautiful roses! All colors too! Red, golden, white, pink…they were so beautiful and I know how much you like roses Amara, so I decided to pick one and bring it back for you. But the minute I picked it he appeared," a giant arm wave interjected here, "he swooped down from the sky, blocking out the natural sun. And in the most grating voice—it was like iron nails on a chalkboard—he told me I must die for picking the rose." Amara and her sisters stared at their father in disbelief. What he had just told them sounded like a fairy tale.

"Papa, who was this man?" Clutching her arms, Aurora stepped a little closer. Thomas tugged on his face with his fingers, pulling the loose skin even further down—he looked like a melting balloon.

"It wasn't a man. It wasn't even close to a man. It was a vampire." If it had been someone other than her father and his voice hadn't been so serious, Amara would have said "good one". Vampires! They were things of horror stories and Eastern Europe. They were just a myth. Her father was obviously suffering some form of post-traumatic stress.

"A vampire?" Thomas glanced around at his daughters, his chocolate eyes finally landing on Amara in a last attempt to find a believer.

"You don't believe me?" His voice cracked and caused Amara to wince.

"It's not that we don't believe you Papa, it's just…"

"It's kind of hard to swallow," Allene finished for Aurora. "I mean a vampire demanding your life in exchange for a silly rose."

"But its true! Look at the rose! Where else would I have gotten it?" Biting her tongue, Amara tried to bite back the tears—was this to be their father's first break down? It happened to older people and he wasn't all that young.

"Papa, its alright. We believe you, but maybe you should get some sleep and then tell us the rest in the morning," the calm-headed, authoritative Aurora suggested.

"It is after eight," Allene interjected kindly, looking at the clock above the sink. Thomas pursed his lips,

"None of you believe me. My own daughters!" As if to prove his point, Thomas rose with a wobble from his chair and stomped towards the kitchen door, being sure to carefully pick his way around his daughters.

"Papa! Papa wait!" Aurora called but watched him go. Gathering her legs Amara stood up and brushed the imaginary dirt specs off her shirt.

"What on earth was he talking about?" Whispering, Allene drew closer to Aurora and Amara so that they formed a tight circle.

"Something about a vampire demanding his life," Aurora murmured, biting into her grapefruit colored lip.

"Well what are we going to do? I feel terrible not believing him. But how can we?"

"Perhaps he'll be more coherent in the morning."

"Maybe something went wrong at the convention…maybe the automatic tea maker malfunctioned." Locking her lips together, Amara listened to her sisters, trying to keep the tears from spilling out.


	3. Proof

**Proof**

When Amara woke up the next morning she had to take several deep breathes. The dream she had was so vivid, so potent it almost wasn't a dream. She had been walking in a garden—amongst various heavy fruit trees and full flowers. The sun was throwing down yellow light, creating a thick yellow curtain. No wind ruffled the curtain. As she walked around she came upon a little garden of roses. They were everywhere, filling her entire vision with bursts of passionate color. Entranced, she bent down to pick one and ended up stabbing her fingers on a thorn. Blood began to well and then pour out of her index finger. The sky darkened and out of the air a dark voice called, "Blood for a bud". Panicking Amara spun around trying to locate the source. Not seeing anyone she turned around and gasped as she nearly ran into a tall, dark figure. Clutching her injured finger, she stepped back and looked up at the person. It was a man with dark, curled hair framing a pale face. He held out a dark yellow rose. Bewitched, Amara took it carefully. He smiled coyly, showing off two pointed teeth. Amara squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the vision.

Tossing her legs over the bed she grabbed for her glasses on the nightstand. Now able to see she ambled out her room and down the stairs. As she came down the creaky steps, she could see the bleary clouds gathering through the front door window. Amara trudged to the kitchen and walked in on Aurora clutching a cup of hot tea. The steam rose up and clouded her eyes. Amara could smell the chamomile all the way across the kitchen.

"Good morning," Aurora chimed, her fair voice strained.

"Morning," Amara stated blearily, sitting next to Allene who was munching on frosted cereal. Silence filled the kitchen, broken only by Allene's crunching and Aurora's careful sipping. Amara couldn't eat. Between Papa's breakdown and her dream, she was feeling queasy. Nobody said anything until Papa came down: then Aurora and Allene put on faces that might make you think they had just returned from the state fair.

"Good morning Papa!"

"Hi Papa!" Amara remained greeting-less, watching her father. The hoary-haired man sat down at the worn oak table with a heavy sigh as Aurora rushed to place a cup of coffee before him. Thomas took a sip of the black juice and stared straight ahead at the faded saffron wall. Exchanging worried glances, Aurora and Allene moved closer to their father.

"How are you feeling Papa?" The old man sighed again and shifted in his chair.

"Terrible. I don't know how to prove to my family what I saw a day ago. And in a month I'll be dead. I know it sounds crazy—I wouldn't believe me either—but I know what I saw."

"It's not that we don't believe you Papa—its just…there's gotta be another explanation."

"How can there be another explanation? What else could fly down from the sky and have fangs!" Amara shuddered, recalling her similar dream.

When the girls failed to respond, Thomas jumped up and stomped towards the back door, "I'm going to get my stuff out of the car."

"I'll help you," Amara leapt off her chair and followed her father.

Outside the air was weighed down with water vapor, making crossing the lawn feel like shifting through a river. Trying to wear off his anger in his steps, Thomas walked just ahead of Amara. Reaching the car he flung open the door and began rummaging around inside. Pulling out a coat and a duffel bag, he threw them on the dewy grass.

"Where the devil is it?" Mumbling, Thomas continued rooting through his cramped silver car.

"What are you looking for Papa?"

"My blasted coffee mug! It's somewhere in the backseat. I tossed it back there to make room for my water bottle."

"Let me look for it while you get the automatic tea maker out of the trunk."

Frustrated, Thomas backed out of the car and stalked around the car to the trunk. The car smelled like old French fries as Amara climbed into the passengers seat. Looking around the back, she thought she spied the fawn-colored mug under the drivers seat. Reaching back she grabbed the handle and pulled it to the surface. But on the way up a flash of color caught her eye. Starting, Amara looked at the back. Three roses rested delicately on the seat. Had they been there the entire time? Gently she gathered the flowers and withdrew from the car. Out in the open air she examined them carefully: one was a medium pink, the other a creamy white, and the last one a deep lemon. Her heart skipped a beat—it was the exact same rose from her dream!

"What's that?" Jumping, Amara slowly turned, trying to hide and yet not conceal the flowers from her father: like a little kid caught with a snicker doodle. At the sight of the flowers his face fell and his ashen lips trembled. "Where did you get those?"

"They were in the back of the car," Thomas beg to tug on his face again.

"I don't know what this means. But get inside, and leave those out here. I don't want you involved." Distraught, Amara let the roses fall with a heavy hand. They were bewitchingly beautiful. It was a shame to abandon them to October's harsh, icy breath. "Get inside Amara." Realizing she was still gazing at the roses, Amara slowly walked towards the house.

Inside she was greeted by a waft of warm air and questions.

"Did he say anything?"

"What happened?"

"Did he talk to you?" Head as misty as the morning, Amara tiredly said,

"Nothing. We talked about nothing. But I found three more roses in the back seat. There was a pink one, a white one, and another yellow one. He told me to leave them," her sisters twisted uncomfortably. Suspicious, Amara continued on, "it was quite strange actually, I had a dream last night about the yellow rose." Aurora's head snapped up.

"You had a nightmare too?"

"I wouldn't call it a nightmare exactly,"

"But you dreamt about the roses too?" Aurora queried, her doe blue eyes grave.

"Yes…did you have a dream about a rose?"

"We both did," Allene replied mystically, staring at no one in particular, "I had a dream about the white rose,"

"And I had a dream about the pink rose," Aurora interrupted on behalf of herself, "we were just talking about it when you came in this morning. It freaked us out."

"Why?" Sitting down at the kitchen table, Amara gazed up at her sister. Buckling under the pressure Aurora sat down too with a teary sigh.

"I was walking in a garden of roses and I stopped to smell the pink one and a dark figure appeared out of nowhere and asked me what I though of the roses. I told him they were very pretty. He asked if I wanted one and I told him 'no'. He started to smile and he looked exactly like a…"

"A vampire?" Aurora nodded.

"I had the exact same dream. Except I was just looking at a group of white roses when the man appeared. He told me I could have any rose in the garden. All I had to do was pick it. I asked if I could have a daisy instead. He smiled at me too and I saw…" Drifting off, Allene rose and hurried over to place her dry cereal bowl in the sink.

"So we all had the same dream more or less,"

"What was your dream?" Aurora leaned forward so her luxuriant honeyed-hair draped around her fair face.

"I was in a garden too and I bent to pick a rose but ended up pricking my finger. The sky blackened and when I turned around the man was standing there. He offered me a yellow rose and I took it. He smiled and, well, you know…" Figuring it safe or at least important, Allene tiptoed back to her seat. Her normally rosy complexion looked like concrete. Aurora didn't look any better.

"What does this all mean?" Allene asked meekly, sliding back into her seat.

"It means Papa was telling the truth,"

"He can't be telling the truth," assured Aurora with a heavy voice. Creases began to form at the corner of her eyes, making her look way older than twenty-four.

"Why not?" Amara challenged.

"Because if he's telling the truth than he's going to die in a month!" Snapping, Aurora quickly broke down into sobs. Her heart wrenching in her chest, Amara stood up to cradle her eldest sister's head against her chest. She let out a few tears, but succumbed mostly to sniffling. When finished she pulled back and gave Amara a watery smile.

"There's got to be another way," mused Allene, her voice small and unstable.

"Maybe we don't have to do anything. Maybe we're all crazy!"

"Then how do you explain the dreams and roses?"

"I don't know…"

"Well what are we going to do?"

"I don't know…" Aurora confessed finally surrendering to the tears. They flowed out, large and salty which in turn prompted Allene to turn misty eyed. Amara closed her eyes and tilted her head towards the ceiling, trying to keep from crying herself.

"What's wrong?" Thomas had reentered and was now standing at the threshold. Aurora sniffed up one big sniffle in an attempt to cure her tears.

"Hi Papa,"

"What's going on?"

"Oh Papa," Aurora sniffed, wiping around her eye-bone with her fingers, "we saw him." Thomas' face turned a serious pallor and his hand grabbed for the nearby counter-top. Gasping, Amara started for him, but he held her at bay with an outstretched arm.

"You saw it?"

"Yes, he came to each of us in a nightmare. And those roses Amara found in the car, we each saw one of them in the dream. I saw the pink one, Allene saw the white one, and in Amara's dream he gave her the yellow one."

"He gave you the yellow one?" Turning towards Amara, Thomas' chocolate eyes were like weathered stone. She nodded in response. "I don't want any of you going _anywhere_ unattended until the month is up."

"Why?" Allene asked innocently. Her father's face looked stricken and then as if suddenly enlightened returned its complexion.

"I forgot to tell you the second part of the—the deal," he swallowed as if the word hurt his throat, "because I didn't want you to know about it and get frightened."

"What is it Papa?" Amara asked gravely, talking for the first time in awhile.

"He made it sound like a choice, but maybe its not,"

"Papa?"

"The creature said—it said…" Thomas sighed, "it said that in order to save my life I had—I had to give him one of my daughters."

Amara had never heard anything more silent than the noiseless vacuum that soon engulfed the kitchen. Eventually she realized she would have to break the silent, consuming wrapper. It didn't bother her too much—she had a burning question for her father.

"Why us? Does twenty-year-old blood taste sweeter?" Ignoring her sarcasm, Thomas replied,

"He said no harm would come to any of you. That he just wanted a companion. But believe me girls, I would _never_ offer any of you up. Not even if he told me he could make me the world's greatest inventor."

"He wants a companion? That sounds a little fishy," commented Allene, resting her chin in her small hand.

"Exactly. I think these dreams may be some sort of ploy to steal you away. I don't trust it at all."

"But wait," Amara interrupted before they completely bypassed this opportunity, "he said he would spare your life if one of us went in your place?"

"Amara," he warned.

"And if one of us went, instead of you, no harm would come to us."

"_Amara_," his voice tightened.

"Papa, let me go in your place."

"No!" Thomas shouted, shocking the long silent timbers, "I will never give one of my daughters over to that creature!"

"But it's an easy way out! Nobody has to die."

"Absolutely not! You are my youngest daughter, I will not abandon you over to him!"

"So if Aurora or Allene wants to go you'll let them?"

"No! It's just—you're so young, you have so much ahead of you. What about school? What about becoming an editor? I will die, before I watch you let those dreams perish."

"And I'll let those dreams die before I watch you die!"

"Stop it! Both of you!" Amara and her father both stopped at Aurora's raised voice. Gandhi-influenced Aurora hardly ever raised her voice. "Nobody has to go anywhere." They blinked at her in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said: no one has to go." Everyone looked at Aurora, his or her eyebrows raised quizzically. Aurora sighed and continued, "No one has to go. If we all just stay here, close to town, he won't bother to come all the way out here to get us. Nobody has to go." Shifting uncomfortably, Amara commented softly,

"It sounds a little disgraceful,"

"There is nothing disgraceful about keeping your family safe." Aurora said pointedly, standing up and stepping behind her chair. Her firm hands found their way to the top of the chair and gripped it.

"Papa?" Amara challenged, knowing he stood on the same side as her when it came to questions of pride and honor. All he needed was a prompt, and he would overturn motherly Aurora's decision. Thomas squirmed beneath all the eyes prodding him for answers.

"Papa?"

"We will all stay here, and hope for the best."

"But Papa,"

"You will respect my decision Amara." Thomas stated bitterly, chastising his daughter for the first time in a long time. "No one is to leave the house unattended. You must all stay around town and be especially careful at night. Am I clear?"

"Clear," repeated Aurora, taking a deep breath.

"Good. I'll be in my study," walking away, Thomas broke up the family meeting. Aurora glided towards the sink and turning on the water began the dishes. Allene began gathering the stray juice cartons, cereal boxes, and pieces of toast from the table. And Amara stomped up to her room to fall back into the woes of Anna Karenina. 


	4. Until it's over

**Until it's over**

Over the next few weeks the timbers of the house settled and quieted. Life seemed almost normal. Every morning at eight Aurora and Allene left for work together, and Amara got up just in time to watch them walk out the door. Papa left before any of them were up. Amara spent the morning getting ready for class. Around eleven o'clock, Papa's silver car would putter into the driveway and Amara would climb into the passenger's seat.

"I not a child, I can get myself to class," she told him bitterly one time on their way to campus.

"Until this is over, we are all children," Thomas had replied, pulling into the parking lot of Canten hall.

Other than having her life escorted, everything seemed normal. Aurora and her boyfriend of three years, Mike, still went out every Friday: and Allene continued to excel at her job at the veterinary clinic. And Amara continued to spend her evenings working in the library. Always an enjoyable part of her day it soon became her favorite part of the day—surpassing the afternoons and nights spent reading in her father's study. Working became her favorite part of the day merely because no one was around to baby-sit her. Her co-workers were completely ignorant of the situation and treated her as they normally would. But her greatest stride of freedom came at closing time when she walked to the car she shared with her sisters, all by herself.

She told her father she walked out to the car every night with Josh, the tall, lanky librarian. She felt bad lying to her father, but she hated being babysitted.

Eventually the morning came when the dead line was up. Theoretically they had one more day together. Amara woke with an uneasiness that lasted throughout the day. Everyone moved around carefully all day and at dinnertime regarded one another with suspicious eyes. Was everyone all right? Had anyone been contacted? Had anyone seen anything? The questions didn't begin until after the milk was poured.

"How was everyone's day?" Asked Thomas, testing the waters while at the same time trying to feign normalcy.

"Fine," the girls responded cautiously, all eyeing their father warily.

"Good," Thomas replied, scooping some green beans out of the antique rose china his wife had favored. The sound of slow scrapping silverware dominated the rest of the conversation.

Amara slowly climbed the stairs up to her room, guided both by use and moonlight. Today had been an edgy, unfulfilled day. Everyone assumed the danger was over—but did they forget he was a vampire? That he only came out at night? And who was to say he'd come immediately: maybe he'd wait a few days before showing up in all his fury. It was only the first day.

Grimacing, Amara lightly stepped down the end of the hallway and opened her bedroom door. Three-thirteen glowed neon lemon-lime from the darkness. Staying up late to read had served a double purpose for her tonight: one, to abate her curiosity as to what was going to happen to Sophie after she entered the philosopher's house; and two, to stand guard.

Nothing had happened and sleepiness had finally conquered her eyes. So with her eyes slit she pulled down the covers and crawled into bed. Quickly she sprang out, her eyes wide open. With fumbling hands she turned on the nightstand lamp. Light softly pervaded the area near her bed. A rose lay innocently on the white sheets. It was blood red. Amara snapped her head towards the window perpendicular to her bed. All she could see was a full moon sneaking through the fingers of the naked trees. Taking several deep breaths to calm herself, she removed the rose and set it on her bedside table, right next to Anna Karenina. Removing her glasses quickly, she scuttled into bed before turning the light off. Her eyes didn't leave the window until the alarm clock went off.

Amara slept past breakfast, past her morning English class, and past lunch. Allene, who had stopped home for a late lunch, finally woke her up.

"Amara," she whispered, gently jiggling her shoulder, "Amara, wake up." Amara bounced up afraid something had happened.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Allene looked slightly taken aback.

"Nothings wrong. I came home for lunch and saw your book bag was still on the table. I came up to see if you were alright."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Amara, yawned rubbing the crusty sleep out of her eyes.

"I guess nobody got much sleep," Allene commented, standing up straight and crossing her arms. The blue smudges under her eyes proved testament to that.

"I guess not," Amara replied, reaching for her glasses.

"What is that?" Confused, Amara followed Allene's gaze to the nightstand.

"Oh, um—Josh gave it to me. Last week. For sweetest day." Allene's crease-lined face melted leaving her face looking like it use to.

"Aww…That's so sweet. And he got you a red one too. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want anyone to say anything. And I didn't want to have to listen to Papa's speech on what a fine young man Josh is."

"True,"

"So promise you won't say anything,"

"I promise," said Allene, giggling behind her hand. Smiling weakly, Amara lay her head back down on the pillow and promised to get up after Allene left.

Amara felt bad lying to her family again, but she refused to have her babysitters doubled. Besides, who was to say a secret admirer hadn't climbed two stories up to her window to leave a rose under her sheets?

That night was even more silently charged than the previous night. The clanking dishes talked louder than anyone else at dinner; and afterward the family gathered silently in Thomas' study. Usually only Amara and her father retreated here to read or debate a current issue. But tonight Allene and Aurora both had excuses for lingering around. They mumbled something about looking for the Scrabble game set. Nobody questioned them. They eventually left for bed together at midnight. Thomas lingered around a little longer waiting for Amara. But in a selfish act of defiance she continued to read, finally forcing Thomas to give up tinkering with his schematics and head up to bed. It was Wednesday after all—he still had to go to work in the morning.

Amara continued to read until well after three: for whatever reason she felt safer in her father's four-windowed study than she did up in her one-windowed room. When she finally did manage to stagger into bed she found another surprise. Two more roses lay stark on the sheets, their long stems thin and prickled. These ones were labyrinths of magenta. Carefully Amara removed them and placed them next to last night's scarlet one. After making sure to check the locks on her window, she hid herself under the covers.

As the days progressed, Amara began to see a correlation between the number of roses and the deadline: for every day past the deadline, she received that number of roses. Pretty soon she was acquiring ten, eleven, twelve roses a night and the sweet perfume was wafting down the hall.

"It smells nice upstairs: are you girls using a new body wash?" Thomas had asked one morning at breakfast. Amara didn't know whether to laugh or bite her tongue: she ended up choking on her toast.

"I have no idea what it is. Do you, Amara?" Allene had questioned pertly, twisting her cereal spoon around in her fingers.

"I have no idea what it is either," she replied taking a sip of milk to dislodge the toast in her throat.

It was funny—the more roses she got, the more Allene became excited, and the more she became uneasy. Allene, thrilled as she was, started dropping hints to the rest of the family about Amara's secret lover. If Thomas understood the game his daughters were playing, he paid no attention. Aurora, however, caught on quickly and began to playfully tease her sister as well. Had it been a love interest, Amara imagined she would take their teasing with a light heart. As it was, it tore her heart apart to be constantly reminded.


	5. Collection

**Collection**

Thomas sat down in his green recliner chair with a contented sigh. Twenty-one days had passed since the last full moon. Aurora had been right—the creature had obviously lost interest in his debt. Snapping open the paper he began to read the business section of the Detroit Free Press. It wasn't long though, before his mind began to wander towards other subjects.

So Amara finally had a boyfriend: even if she wouldn't admit to it, her sisters certainly would. He thought he heard Allene say it was Josh from the Maple Falls Library. Thomas had his doubts though—it had to be someone rich enough to buy her dozens of high-quality roses everyday. She had to have at least two hundred roses by now—and they never wilted! The house was absolutely covered with thickly scented roses. He sincerely doubted it was anyone from this small town, considering the local florist only carried the falsely scented, wimpy roses. Still he was glad that she was finally having some fun in these recently dismal times. Chuckling to himself as he recalled his own youthful excursions into love—especially with Amara's mother—Thomas turned the page of his newspaper.

Suddenly the print on his newspaper disappeared. The lights had gone out without so much as a blast of wind or flash of lightening.

"Good evening, Mr. Brea," Thomas nearly swallowed his tongue. That voice—those icy daggers of speech: he had almost believed it a nightmare long since faded. Now it was here, in his study, next to his chair.

"Surprised?" It mocked, "You really shouldn't be. Did you think I would forgive your debt so easily?" Thomas felt the chambers of his heart collapse within him. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his voice for what he was about to say,

"Please, I know I acted with dishonor, but please, take me away and kill me as you please. Spare my daughters the sight of a mutilated father."

The vampire laughed, making Thomas' skin pucker, "Now, now Mr. Brea. Don't be so hasty. By failing to adhere to the deadline, you have lost all right to choose the manner in which your debt is to be settled."

Blanching, Thomas turned around to stare in the dark, "What?"

"Mr. Brea," the voice repeated scornfully, "you failed to send either yourself or one of you daughters. So it falls to me to make the choice."

"Show yourself!" Thomas cried wildly, staring blindly into the night. The light near his chair sprang on illuminating a radius of a few feet. The creature was standing far enough back that the only parts of the creature he could see were its black-shoed feet, black pants, and sharp grey eyes. Slightly comforted by the ability to see Thomas managed to quiver:

"What do you want?"

"Mr. Brea, I want one of your daughters," whimpering, Thomas clutched his heart.

"No! No, take me! I'm the one who erred! Take me!"

"Mr. Brea," the creature drawled pacing the line between light and dark.

"Please. Please," he begged, his heart straining under the pressure, "don't punish my daughters for my mistake!"

"Bring them down, Mr. Brea,"

"No! Take me! I'll do anything!" Frantically, Thomas clasped his hands and was on the verge of falling over from strain, when the creature spoke,

"If you don't get them, I will," the hardness in its voice caused Thomas' body to numb: there was nothing he could say to this monster to change it's mind. Head reeling, he could barely feel his legs. He managed to stumble out of the room and towards the stairs. Slowly he climbed, his heart weighing him down.

What cruel fate asked a father to sacrifice his daughters to a monster? Tears ran down his face dripping off his chin. The stairs were coated with dismal tears. Reaching the top of the stairs he gazed forlornly across at Aurora and Allene's room. A light slid under Amara's door at the end of the hall. His little daughters! Who were so young in life and still had so much to do. Thomas covered his mouth, trying to contain his sobs. If only he could save them—at least one. His sobs caught in his throat. Maybe he could save one! The creature didn't know how many daughters he had—for all it knew Thomas just had two. But whom did he spare? That choice was as unfair as the situation before him.

His mind nagged him with an answer: Amara. She was the youngest. She was still in school. She was the one with so many dreams. But was that fair? Aurora had a steady boyfriend and a job she loved. And Allene was on the verge of being promoted to assistant veterinary. Was it fair to rob them of their lives?

Sniffling, Thomas headed towards Aurora and Allene's room, thinking he could explain the situation to them and ask them which sister should be spared. That seemed to be the only way. Gently pushing against the creaking door, Thomas entered his eldest daughters' room.

"Papa?" Aurora questioned sleepily from the far side of the room—she always was a light sleeper. Thomas cleared his throat: how could he possibly say this?

"There's something I need to talk to you girls about. But we have to be quick. Wake Allene." Quickly closing the door Thomas flicked on the light and did the job for her. Allene sat up sharply. Her cobalt eyes closed tight against the light, looked first at her father and then at the clock.

"What's going on?" Thomas' throat tightened. Sitting on the edge of Allene's bed, he hiccupped a sob. Could he even do this without breaking down?

"Papa? What's wrong?" Aurora walked around her bed to join Thomas and Allene on Allene's bed.

"Oh girls…I don't know how to say this, but I must say it quickly,"

"What is it?"

"The creature…its here." Aurora gasped and quickly covered her mouth. Allene's face turned a sickly yellow. As he explained the situation and his plan the girls listened with small, serious mouths. When he finished, he looked at their faces, wondering what they thought of him. Aurora was the first to speak,

"We can't tell Amara," Aurora whispered, picking at Allene's quilt.

"No," Allene agreed, "She kept insisting that she should go. If she finds out...she has so much ahead of her. Besides, can you imagine? Amara with a vampire? I don't know who would get eaten first." Thomas' eyes welled up at his daughter's love.

"But what about the dreams? He knows there's three of us." Thomas felt his heart jolt: he hadn't thought about that.

"We'll tell him Amara's not part of the family. That she's just a neighbor." Allene pursed her lips, but nodded in agreement.

"Then we better get down before Amara or…our guest," Aurora swallowed the word like bitter medicine, "realize what's going on."

"Thank you girls. I'm so sorry. This should never have happened."

"Don't be sorry Papa. Now nobody has to die. Maybe it's better this way. "

Amara looked up from her book. Was somebody out in the hallway? She glanced over at the clock on her bedside table: twelve twenty-four. Who was up at this hour?

Shifting her weight, she was assaulted by another patch of sickly, sweet perfume. How she hated that smell! She had gotten so many roses in the past few weeks that she had to start spreading them out over the house: which of course prompted more teasing. This would have been heaven for her except the flowers emitted a pungent perfume and _never_ died. The house reeked of roses. But she couldn't bear to throw them away: despite being a nuisance, they were still beautiful.

There it was again. How many people were out there? Cautiously she placed her book face down on the nightstand, to preserve the page. And untangling herself from the covers, moved towards the door.

"Good evening ladies," the vampire intoned politely, giving a slight bow.

"Good evening," they mumbled out of habit. With their eyes downcast, neither dared look at the figure standing in the light of their father's lamp. His smile widened; but not enough to reveal his trademark.

"How are you this evening?" Aurora ands Allene stared at him, their mouths tugged down and pursed. "Well then, how is your sister? I see she is not present." Panic flooded Aurora and Allene's cobalt eyes. Their lie had seemed so much more plausible up in their comfortable room. Thomas, sensing their panic jumped in,

"Sister? There is just the two of them,"

"Really…" The vampire intoned, looking at Thomas with raised eyebrows.

"Yes," Thomas stumbled over such an icy glare.

"I was the one he took the rose for. You should take me," Allene suddenly stepped forward her body limp.

"No," Aurora moved forward so she was ahead of Allene, "I'm the oldest. Take me."

"While this is very touching, I am still wondering where your youngest sister is. Your attempt to conceal her only increases my desire to see her."

"Allene is the youngest," the girls shook their heads in agreement. The vampire sighed,

"Mr. Brea, produce all of your daughters or I will. I will not ask you again." Thomas paled, his mind frantically scrambling back and forth: how could he perpetuate this ruse? Suddenly the vampire's head snapped towards the door where he stared at it intently,

"Perhaps that will be unnecessary," Thomas Brea and his daughters turned around. Amara was standing in the doorway. Her dark framed glasses glinted in the light and her dark hair was flying wild in a bun. She clutched her arms, chilled on the autumn night.

"What's going on?" She asked, eyeing the stranger.

"Good evening," he replied, giving her a slight bow.

"Papa?"

"Amara please, go back upstairs," she continued to stare at the stranger, thinking he looked distressingly familiar.

"Not until you tell me what's going on,"

"Amara please!"

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Crossing her arms, she stood her ground. The vampire, as if amused by her pertness, stayed back, away from the study light and replied,

"My name is Dominic Lucenzia. And I have come to collect your father's debt." Amara felt the color in her face evaporate, but she remained firm by squeezing her arms tight.

"Then you've come for me," a cry arose from Aurora and Allene.

"No! Take me!"

"No! Me!" The vampire held up his hand and the room fell into complete silence.

"This is not a matter for any of you to decide." Thomas, Aurora, and Allene looked at him in stupid horror. Was he implying that he would pick which daughter was to give up her life?

Amara's glance immediately flicked to Aurora—he would go for the pretty one. That's the way the world worked—go for the curvaceous, blond with large blue eyes before you pick the gangly brunette. She couldn't let the vampire pick Aurora. Aurora would never survive. She got homesick just going to camp. For a week. When she was fifteen. She would never survive being trapped in some house with just a vampire for company. It would be like _The Yellow Wallpaper_ all over again.

"I would be very pleased, if Amara came with me." Her head instantly snapped towards his voice.

"No!"

"Take me!"

"Leave her alone!" The vampire glanced at the family who quieted.

"I will go," the room's attention instantly focused back on Amara.

"Amara don't!" Aurora and Allene rushed towards her figure in the door frame. Aurora grabbed Amara's shoulders and shook her twice, trying to wake her sense back up. Allene fluttered around the edges, wringing her hands.

"You have so much ahead of you! Let me go instead," Aurora said motherly, cupping her hands around Amara's face. Grabbing her wrists Amara stared at her straight in the eye:

"You have more ahead of you."

"What are you talking about?" Amara sighed,

"You have your kindergarteners and Mike; and Allene has her animals. What do I have? Books. Trust me, they won't miss me."

"But we'll miss you!" Allene interjected, her voice teary.

"It has to be me," before they could argue further, Amara broke through the barricade her sisters had made. "I will go." The vampire nodded, a smile playing around his lips.

"Very well. Now if you'll say good-bye to your family, we must go." Nodding, Amara spun around and right on cue her sisters ran towards her and engulfed her in their arms.

"Oh Amara!"

"Be brave!"

"And don't do anything foolish!"

"I love you guys too," Amara said, squeezing them both tightly. She could feel their tears blessing the top of her head. Finally they released her and she spun to face her father. His chocolate eyes had melted and his facial lines had deepened. If he hadn't been out of tears, he probably would have been crying. Amara could feel the tears rising in her throat, ready to choke her.

"Good-bye, Papa," She croaked, as he moved towards her.

"Good-bye dear," he choked, throwing his arms over her like a cloak. Warm and safe, she laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. She took a deep breath trying to implant his woody, piney scent into her brain. "Remember that we love you and will always think about you." Amara pulled her head back to look up at his face: the sight of his chocolate eyes made the tears start slipping out.

"I love you too Papa,"

"You always have such spirit Amara. You remind me so much of your mother sometimes. Remember, you may look like me, but you have her eyes."

"I am practically your clone Papa," Amara sniffled; which was her way of arguing about her resemblance to her mother.

"It's time to go," the vampire said from its darkened corner by the chair. Taking a deep breath, Amara slowly untangled herself from her father's hug. Stomach churning and eyes watering, she headed for the chair; and the vampire stepped out from the shadows. She kept her eyes downcast, knowing if she looked up at her family that there would be no way to control the tears. Striding over the vampire took hold of her elbow and began to lead her out of the study. Its hands were as frosty as a December night. Amara could feel her skin pimpling at the touch. Within four strides they were out of the study and moving into the middle of the hallway. Amara began to wonder how he was going to transport her.

"Hold onto my arm tight," it instructed, hooking its arm through hers. Confused Amara looked up.

"Amara!" She heard her father shout. Suddenly it was black.

Amara could see shadows moving around her; but it was like watching shadows on black. She couldn't discern anything. The mist creeping along near her feet didn't help anything. The laws of physics seemed to be suspended in this place where she couldn't feel anything, including time. That was a lie. She could feel one thing. His arm through hers. They moved along for what felt like an hour before Amara felt something sucking her forward: she felt like the stray potato chip that the vacuum picks up.

Falling into it she closed her eyes tight against the pressure. Unexpectedly, she felt her feet on top of something solid. Opening her eyes cautiously she was startled to see a lighted foyer. A crystal chandelier overhead was casting off waning yellow light from what looked like candles. Under her feet were black and white tiles that looked at least a hundred years old. Glancing to her right she saw a vase brimming with lemon-colored roses. Their perfume wafted over and made her nauseous.

"Welcome, to your new home," Amara could feel his eyes on her face. She tried to keep a blank face: she knew nothing about him or this place—and no way was she going to be vulnerable until she did know. Still she felt compelled to say something,

"It's very, um, antiquated." The vampire crackled, although Amara thought it might be a laugh.

"Yes," he agreed, " the façade and most of the décor is not under a hundred years old. But don't feel obligated to speak if you really don't wish to. That's how false impressions are created."

"Oh," Amara conceded, looking around distractedly. Her eyes ended up on the grand staircase straight ahead.

"You're probably very tired. Allow me to show you to your room." Amara nodded and started to follow him. He led her up the grand staircase and turned left at the top. Following meekly behind, Amara glanced occasionally at the walls bedecked with classical art pieces. At one point she thought she passed an early Jan van Eyck.

Eventually, at what seemed like it should be the end of the hall, the vampire stopped and opened a door on the right side of the hall. Pushing it open, he stood back and gestured her in. Amara stepped in hesitantly and looked around. A large, four-poster bed pressed itself against the left wall staring at the expansive vanity. Beyond the bed she could see a half moon peeking in through a set of large windows.

"I know it may take awhile to adjust, but I would prefer you stay awake during the night and sleep during the day." Amara nodded, thinking how worthless his endeavor would be otherwise. But at least she had an excuse for the first couple of days. "You may go anywhere in the mansion that you wish. I only ask that you remain inside unless I give you express permission to leave. I will leave you to yourself then. Good night." The door clicked softly behind her. Twitching, she turned her head to see the door really had shut. As she shivered the tears, jerked awake, started sliding down her face. Blinded by the salty water, she stumbled towards the bed and crawled under the downy blankets, still wearing her pajamas.


	6. First Day

**First Day**

According to the little gold clock on the nightstand, Amara slept a little past noon. The sun fell through the window in one large slot. At first she was confused as to why she had slept late and why the covers felt all funny. It wasn't until she sat up that she recalled last night. Hiccupping, she threw her face into the pillow hoping to just disappear.

But she had volunteered. She had readily accepted this fate in order to save her sisters and father. Sulking was ridiculous. Not to mention childish. Chiding herself she rose from the bed and looked around, not sure what to do. As if suspecting as much a sudden breeze picked up and pushed her towards the window.

Amara gave a little scream and tried to turn out of its reach. Just after she cried out the curtains snapped shut blocking out the sun. Immediately the breeze stopped driving her forward. Panicked though, she ran as far as the wall would allow her to.

"Amara?" Her head jerked towards the door. The vampire was standing there, his pale face somber. "What's wrong?" She swallowed hard.

"Something keeps pushing me," his face didn't change except for a small smile.

"I forgot to mention last night, that my servants would attend to your every need."

"The invisible hands," Amara whispered, easing off the wall. It was just like her father's story. He hadn't been exaggerating.

"Adelaide, Evangeline I think our young guest would prefer to take care of herself," a gust of angry wind pushed past her. The vampire watched an invisible event make its way out the door. He then turned his attention back to Amara. "I'm afraid they don't like me telling them how to do their job."

"What are they?" She asked cautiously, moving towards one of the bedposts. Lightly grasping the post, she made sure to put the bed between her and the vampire. His face remained in the same position it was before, but she could see something working behind his eyes. At last he said,

"I'm not sure how to explain it in terms you would be familiar with. They're kind of like invisible spirits."

"Are they dead?"

"No, no that's just their nature,"

"It's their nature to be invisible gusts of pushy wind?" The vampire crackled.

"Sort of. They're like spirits in that they don't have the same physicality that you and I do. They are, as you said, more like bursts of air."

Another gust blew through the room rippling his dark hair and clothes. He laughed again, a strange cackle closer to bark than anything. "Most of the servants you will encounter aren't so pert. The ones you just meet are Adelaide and Evangeline, the most temperamental of the group. I think they've been spoiled from a lack of work." The wind blew past him again and, Amara assumed, exited. His attention once again focused back on her,

"Are you alright?" Amara nodded, "Then I shall return to my chambers. I believe Adelaide and Evangeline were leading you to breakfast over there by the window." His head tilted towards the window and looking over her shoulder to follow his gaze, Amara saw a silver plated tray laden with ample breakfast provisions. The vampire turned to leave, but Amara called out,

"Wait. How are you here?" He looked at her. Again his face was blank and somber, but Amara could see his eyes trying to figure out what she meant. Suddenly enlightened he spoke,

"Vampires can come out in the day. They just can't let the sun touch them. As long as I am concealed from the sun I can move about when and where I please." Amara nodded, signaling that her question was satisfyingly answered. The vampire gave her a half bow and disappeared out the door. As he closed the door, the curtains ripped back open to let the sunlight in.

Dazed from the last few minutes, Amara just stared off into space letting the new information churn about in her brain. Eventually her stomach started to twist and talk to her and she left the safety of the bedpost to seek out breakfast.

Breakfast was piled onto a silver plated platter on a dainty table by the windows. Amara sat at the table and gazed at the meal before her. There were piles of crisp toast, tall glasses of smooth milk and pulpy orange juice, mounds of yellow eggs, strips of leathery bacon, a bowl of rich porridge, and a bowl of tiny, speckled eggs. She would never be able to eat it all! Screwing her mouth she took a small spoonful of the porridge. She ended up eating the entire bowl. After the porridge she tried one of the little brown speckled eggs. It had a bland, slippery kind of taste; but it was filling and she was greatly amused by the smallness and ended up eating the entire bowl.

Finished she looked over the feast trying to decide if she could manage anything else. Her elastic pants were already stretched out. Now what to do…Getting up from the table she started to poke around the room. Starting with the vanity she found various scented powders, lotions, and four bottles of amber liquid. Each smelled like a different kind of flower: the most common being rose. Moving on she found a closet to the right of the vanity. It lit up at her entrance, casting a yellowy glow in dark space. The closet was nearly the size of her old room! On the left was a long row of the most fashionable tops, blazers, pullovers, jeans, skirts, boots, flats, scarves, and hats. Straight ahead were shelves of flannel, silk, and cotton pajamas folded neatly. The right side, however, was even more extraordinary. A line of gowns stood at attention: flowing skirts, tight bodices, and loose straps. The glass beads, gossamer ribbons, and silken bows all shimmered in the light. Amara felt her nose crinkle—she hadn't worn a dress since her aunt's wedding, and even then it was somewhat reluctantly.

Backing out, she scanned the walls for a light switch, which turned out to be unnecessary as the light vanished with her. Moving on she discovered a bathroom on the same wall as the bed. She would have passed right by it except for the bullion handle, protruding from the wall. She felt like she was in Versailles with rooms hidden in the walls. The bathroom was twice the size of the closet! A claw-foot tub rested in the far corner, perpendicular to a large glass shower. The toilet was in the other far corner next to a bidet. Covering her mouth she tried to stifle a laugh: where was she? Exploring the cabinets near the sink she found every personal product she could imagine. Hairdryers, deodorant, toothpaste, hairbrushes, lotions, tampons… Even odder than finding a stash of personal care products was that they were all hers. Not her half-empty, half-damaged products from home, but the same brands and types only brand new. Her mind scrunched up in thought: she had been expected here. Disturbed, she exited. Looking around the grand room she wondered what to do next. She had already poked through most of the stuff in the room. Perhaps it was time to venture outward. Re-entering the closet she picked out the simplest outfit she could find: a pair of dark jeans, a grey tee shirt and a knitted overcoat sort of thing. She thought Aurora called it a shrug. Maybe she should have come: she would have loved the highly fashionable clothes and dresses.

Stepping out she lightly, she danced towards the door and exited. Now that sunlight was leaking through, Amara could see the wooden floors were carpeted with intricate Asian rugs and the walls smeared with _interesting_ paintings. They were early Renaissance paintings, with dark, somber coloring and twisted images. They looked like they belonged in a haunted mansion.

She walked down the hall and nimbly tramped down the stairs. At the bottom she studied both the right and the left and ended up going right. It seemed more interesting. A corridor as long a football field stretched before her, doors in perfect lines waited for her to open them. Starting with the first one she encountered she was determined to see all the rooms before nightfall.

The first one was just a drawing room with simple furnishings. A few high backed couches, some side tables, a fireplace, and knick-knacks. Uninterested, Amara moved on to the next room. And the next. And the next. They were all virtually the same! Except for a few differences like a piano or some rare artifact, they were all the same. Amara crinkled her nose. How droll.

The end of the hall came all too soon and she only had one door left. She opened it softly expecting to close it within a few minutes. Instead the flash of titanium pots and pans hanging over a large stove pleasantly surprised her. Smiling she stepped in further to catch a whiff of lemon. The titanium fridge loomed amiably against the wall, near what looked like a pantry. Amara smiled at how modern it all was. But even though it was a relief from the sitting rooms, Amara exited fairly soon in pursuit of more interesting places.

Going down the left hallway didn't prove much more interesting. The rooms were more frequent and more simple. She suspected she was in the servant's quarter—as was typical of buildings such as this. She wondered if the winds spent their time down here. Did they behave like tangible objects? Did they sleep in beds and sit on chairs? Pushing her tongue against the inside of her cheek she debated whether she should call out and ask the still air a question. Biting her tongue she decided against it: what if he heard?

Passing a window she did a double take: the sun was just a few degrees above the horizon, setting the forest on fire with an orangey glow. She sighed, and headed back towards the main lobby. Even though he had said she was free to look around she didn't want him to catch her outside of the room. The room was a much more enclosed environment where she could more easily detect a presence.

She entered the room just as the simmering sun disappeared in the purple sky. Moving towards the window to inspect the scenery she wasn't sure what to do. He told her last night he wanted her to stay up at night—and he told her father he wanted a companion. So what was she suppose to do? Amara hugged her arms and looked at the darkening forest.

As if to answer her silent question, the wind reappeared and began tugging her towards the closet. She stiffened at the sensation of the windy fingers but tried to keep her cool this time. It pulled her into the closet, which filled with light at her appearance. Suddenly the wind let go and left her standing in the middle.

"What do you want me to do?" The wind picked up one of the gowns on the left—a peachy one with thick straps and a lacy ribbon running around the waist. It held it out in front of her.

"No," she told the air firmly, shaking her head. The dress replaced itself and a royal blue one took its place. This one had a low cut neckline and three-inch straps. It was bunched up on one side to give the appearance of God-knows-what.

"No," she told the air again. The dress vibrated and forcefully returned itself onto a hanger. This time a Kelly green dress came off the hanger. This dress was satiny and strapless also, with a bodice that flowed into a billowing skirt.

"No! I will not wear a dress." The dress stood completely motionless. Amara regarded it suspiciously—why wasn't it going away?

"Hey!" She cried as her pants were suddenly tugged down. As she bent over to replace them, her shirt jerked up over her head. "Stop it!" A battle between the invisible spirits and Amara ensued with the spirits pulling the dress over her head and Amara ripping it off again. Suddenly she felt her arms being pinned to her sides and the dress sliding over her tossing head.

"Stop it!" She shouted the words muffled in the satin. The minute the dress over, her arms were yanked out and the zipper pulled up with a zip. She didn't even have time to protest before the wind pushed her out of the closet and towards the vanity. Two brushes picked themselves up and started to pull through her hair with vigor. Seizing the opportunity. Amara reached just under her armpit to undo the zipper. She pulled her hand back from a light sting: the wind had slapped her hand! There was only one brush working on her head now and a new force was holding her zipper shut. The two spirits (what had he called them? Angelica and Evangeline?) had divided in order to conquer. She could feel her hair twisting and twirling on top of her head. She laughed. Her shoulder-length locks were just long enough to do absolutely nothing with! They had picked the wrong girl to play pretty, pretty princess with. The air above her head began to vibrate and she imagined a young, raven-haired maid scrunching up her flushed face in irritation. Frustrated, the wind opened a drawer and extracted a jeweled clip and pinned her hair back.

"No you don't," she informed the wind like a spoiled child and reached back to pull the clip out. She pulled back again, the tops of her hands stinging harder. "Hey!" She cried, babying her minor injuries. Ignoring her, the wind began to push her towards the door. She tried to resist by dragging her feet but two were stronger than one and she soon found herself outside in the hallway. The wind eased up and she turned around to reenter—the slam from the door caused her to jump back. Angry, she reached for the doorknob and gave it a quick twist. It didn't budge. Surprised she twisted and pushed harder: the wind had locked her out!

"Hey! Open this door right now!" she pounded on the wooden door with both hands, "Let me in! You pesky, little…"

"Amara?" She turned around sharply, though she didn't need to—she knew whose level voice that was. He was standing about five-feet away, his marble visage relaxed. Despite how unexpressive his face was she could see his severe grey eyes regarding her astutely. They rested on the green dress.

"They put me in this ridiculous dress and then locked me out." She told him, gesturing towards the door in an attempt to draw his attention away from the dress. It seemed to work, as his eyes flicked up to regard her face.

"You don't seem to be getting on very well with Adelaide and Evangeline," a small smile peeked through the corner of his mouth, assuring her that it was all right.

"They're very pushy,"

"And you're very stubborn," he cackled and cast his eyes over her head towards the door, "Adelaide! Evangeline! Come here," a blast of warm air blew past her ruffling the dress. It seemed to swirl around his figure billowing out his black shirt and dark hair. Amara thought she could hear a whistling noise.

"Yes I know…I agree she looks very lovely, but she doesn't want…yes I know…you can't just implant your ideals of fashion onto…please don't interrupt Adelaide, I know your position on the matter. You can't force your ideals onto her; it will only make her sullen. Unlock the door." A click sounded behind her and she felt air pushing out from the room.

"Thank you," she said loudly, starting to take a step back.

"You've really quite irritated them," he said, the smiling on his face growing an inch longer.

"Well you can tell them they irritate me too,"

"Don't worry they heard you," he grinned as a strong wind blasted her shoulders.

"I'm going to change,"  
"When you're finished," he said, stopping her in her tracks, "I would be very pleased if you would join me for dinner in the western dining room."

"Where is that?" She asked, her chin grazing her shoulder as she kept her back to him.

"Adelaide and Evangeline will show you," nodding, she entered the room and slowly closed the door. He wanted her to eat with him? She couldn't think of anything more awkward. As she sat there and munched away—she was very hungry after not eating since noon—he would be doing what? Looking for her jugular? No, he said no harm would come to her. But he had said that to her father—nearly two months ago. Before they had broken their promise. A crease cut across her forehead as she moved towards the closet. Just as she managed to jerk down the zipper, the light in the closet flicked on. Briefly she wondered what was turning it on. She could only assume it was something similar to Adelaide and Evangeline. Sliding the dress off, she took the opportunity to dislodge the clip from her head and place it on one of the shelves.

Minutes later she strode out of the closet buttoning a dark blue blazer. She moved towards the vanity, planning to take up some time by messing with her hair. After brushing it all the way through, twice, she pulled it up into a standard ponytail. Taking a deep breath through her nose she walked out the door. Immediately, the wind picked up, and as if taking her by her elbows, guided her down the corridor, down the stairs, and down another corridor. It was taking her towards where she had discovered the kitchen earlier: jerking and tugging her along. Almost at the very end, she was steered left where a set of double doors opened in to reveal a short, dark table laden with dishes.

What caught her attention though, was his dark figure silhouetted by the blazing fireplace. He turned around at her entrance.

"Good evening," he said formally, moving towards her. The door snapped shut behind her, encouraging her to enter further.

"Good evening," she replied, moving towards the table. She moved slowly, knowing that by moving towards him she could be walking right up to her death; but if he were friendly, she would certainly offend by remaining motionless. The compromise was a crawl towards the table. He beat her to it and gallantly, pulled out a chair for her. Recognizing it as a sign of hospitality, Amara quickened her pace and sat down. The vampire moved to take the head, which was only about six or seven feet away. As soon as he sat down the platters and silverware jumped into action and began loading her plate with food. She looked on in a mix of horror and delight at all the food collecting on her plate: stuffed chicken breast, glazed carrots, twice-stuffed potatoes, salad doused in raspberry vinaigrette, fresh rolls, and to top it all off a bowl of the little, speckled eggs jumped to sit at her elbow. She had to laugh at the irony of it all.

"It seems like I've been expected,"

"They aim to please. Do you like it?"

"Yes," she laughed, picking up her fork and poising it for action, "it's all of my favorite foods."

"Good," flicking her eyes up, she caught him smiling at her, his plate completely empty.

"It's quite funny actually," setting down her fork she leaned forward trying to look him straight in the eye, "it seems as if everything has already been planned for me." His smile widened in the yellow firelight.

"What do you mean?"

"The food, all the stuff in the bathroom, its all my favorite stuff,"

"Isn't it more comforting to be surrounded by familiar items?"

"I'm not complaining, I'm merely noting that it's quite odd. It seems like everything was specifically planned for me."

"Perhaps you would like to discuss this after dinner?"

"No," she reassured him, sitting back in her chair.

"Very rarely is intelligent conversation fostered with a hungry stomach." Right on cue her stomach growled under her.

"Fine," re-grasping her fork she stabbed a spinach leaf, saving it from drowning in dressing. After a few minutes of sampling each food she could still feel his gaze on her. Looking up confirmed her feelings.

"Are you going to eat?" The minute she said it, she realized it could have double meanings and quickly bit her lip. At least now she could discover his true intentions, no matter how much he disguised them with civility.

"Would it make you more comfortable?"

"Yes," she replied cautiously, watching him for any sudden movements. His only reaction was to nod and speak to a dish on his right: at his command all the dishes sprang up and ran to their master's side. They took turns filling his plate with as much food as hers. She wondered if vampires could taste food, seeing as they were technically dead. But she felt she had already used up most of her question quota and she still had more important things to ask after dinner.

The rest of dinner was silent and long. They didn't finish until the clock on the mantle piece called time in ten sharp rings. By then the dishes began to levitate and whisk themselves out the door. The vampire rose and Amara did the same, pushing in her chair.

"I thought we might retire to the drawing room," a dozen different rooms flashed into Amara's mind.

"Sounds good," she replied, waiting for him to lead the way. Stepping gracefully around the table he made towards the exit and Amara followed lightly behind. He held the door open for her, as Amara stepped through and waited off to the side for him. Gently closing the door he started down the hall. He led her straight down to another door on the right. Giving the handle a soft twist he held open this door for her as well. A flash of light from the fireplace erupted around, lighting the room. She passed airily by him, noting this was the closest she had gotten to him since their departure from the Brea household: she felt a cold aura pulsating from his body. Shivering, she entered and stood in the middle of the room.

"Please, have a seat," he said politely, closing the door. Stiffening she walked over and sat down on a high backed fainting couch. She really didn't like the door being closed. As if sensing her thoughts, he reached back over and cracked the door. Her muscles relaxed.

"So your curiosity overpowers your fear. That's good. Very good." He came to sit on the couch opposite of her, his arm resting along the top of the navy stripped couch.

"I just want to know: why me?"

"Why do think you were specifically picked?"

"Everything seems to be specifically meant for me. Almost as if you were expecting me to come, even though you gave us a choice." He smiled, his grey eyes glinting in amusement.

"I cannot deny, you are a very observant girl,"

"Is that your answer or a lead-in?" He cackled, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Both, I suppose,"

"Why me?"

"I was hoping not to get into this until a later time."

"That won't sate me." She said firmly trying to look him directly in the eye. He blinked several times in a row, his rhythm reminding her of a metronome.

"Don't look me in the eyes," she blushed and quickly looked away.

"Sorry,"

"You might fall too deep into them and be without free will,"

"Don't you have the power to release me?"

"Theoretically. But sometimes people fall too deep. It takes a very strong person to resist a vampire's glance."

"Oh,"

"How do you like it here?" he inquired, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees.

"It's only the first day,"

"Is that your answer or a lead-in?"

"My answer," he cackled, his laugh strong. As soon as his laughter died, he asked her,

"Do you play chess?"

"A little. My sisters never learned and my father only played when he was in the mood."

"How would you like to play now?" She sighed: she was never going to get her answer.

"Why not?" Getting up he moved back towards the door. He ended up in front of an ornate armoire that wouldn't look out of place at Versailles. From it he extracted a board and decorated ebony box and brought them to a table near the cabinet. Standing up, Amara went to join him. By the time she got there, the entire game was already set up. She sat down in the chair farthest from him and ended up playing with the white pieces.

They played three games before Amara finally got so tired she couldn't focus. She had won the first and second one, but lost the final one. As she trudged the stairs up to her room she reflected on how poor a player he was: she expected a little more from a vampire. Still, victory was victory and it kept her mind off other things: at least until she crawled under the covers at two in the morning.


	7. The Library

**The Library**

The days fell into a pattern with Amara rising everyday around one o'clock. After waking she would search the mansion for something to amuse herself with. She never found much of anything. Not even a book or a deck of cards. Once or twice she toyed with the idea of venturing outside; but she figured she should feel out his character a little more before disobeying him. So she occupied her time by nosing around all the nooks and crannies. The most she ever found was dust.

The evenings progressed exactly like the first one. Every night she dined with him: only after she struggled with Adelaide and Evangeline. (The two spirits insisted she wear a formal dress. To escape that frilly fate she had to concoct a new plan every night. Dressing herself quickly and running out the door seemed to work best.) After dinner Amara and the vampire would retire to the same drawing room to play chess. The only thing that differed was the conversation topics and the chess games. During these games, she began to notice with increasing frustration, that he was better than she thought. On the fifth night, after two minor wins and a smashing loss, she finally looked up and said what she had been suspecting,

"You let me win,"

The vampire's eyes rose to meet hers, "On the contrary, I'm afraid you just lost."

"I don't mean just now—I mean the past few games. You've been letting me win!"

Grinning, he leaned back in his seat with a satisfied smirk, "It keeps the game interesting."

"Maybe," her face contracted in concern, "but it's deceiving. I don't like being played."

"My apologies. I only meant to keep the game interesting for both parties."

Amara's brain lurched to a stop, "I think I better go to bed."

"Very well," the vampire replied gallantly, rising from his seat. Straightening her bones to control her wobbly legs, Amara rose as well. "Please, allow me to escort you to your room,"

"I can find it," she said more forcefully than she intended.

"Still, it would give me great pleasure to see you upstairs,"

"Alright," she conceded moving towards the door. Nineteenth century manners were hard to argue with; and she just wanted to get away.

0-0-0-0-0

Up in her room, Amara slipped a comfy shirt over her head. Deeply disturbed she pulled on a pair of thick socks as she stumbled towards the vanity. She felt like a stiff puppet—not wanting to be controlled, but still moving to his whimsy. He was playing with her. Brushing her hair vigorously, she stared at her reflection in the mirror: it was going to take strength on her part to resist his games. Catching sight of her eyes, she smiled cleverly—it was about time something interesting happened.

0-0-0-0-0

The next evening, Amara awoke refreshed. The challenge presented to her was invigorating after so many days of monotony. Her blood pulsed through her veins, excited at the new change of scenery. Tonight's dinner and chess would cease to be dinner and chess—instead they would be tests and trials. Amara was so enthralled she almost didn't notice Adelaide and Evangeline's reluctance to dress her. They only blew weakly around her, ruffling her hair but making no suggestions.

"Finally tried of fighting?" She teased, pulling a black long-sleeved shirt over her head. They didn't move. Concerned she looked around, "What's wrong?" Adelaide and Evangeline only gently nudged her out the door.

Even dinner seemed rather somber: the dishes were sluggish and the fire not nearly as animate as usual. The only thing that appeared normal was the vampire. His calmness only worried her further.

"What's going on?" She finally inquired halfway through the meal.

"What do you mean?" He asked, not looking up from his busy knife and fork.

"Why are the winds so—subdued?"

"Hmm," he exhaled through his nose, "they should know better than that."

"Better than what?"

"To worry you with a show of emotion,"

"What's wrong with them?" Concerned, Amara let her fork drop softly to the side of her plate.

"They're just sullen over something I said to them earlier,"

"What did you say to them?"

He looked up from his underdone steak, "Don't worry yourself about it," his grey eyes looked like steel. Amara felt her pulse thicken. Perhaps this was it: his entire scheme would be revealed. Whether he would eat her or keep her would be decided this night. She swallowed. Perhaps vampires were like cats, and played with their food before eating it.

Dinner ended earlier than usual. As the plates began to disappear out the door Amara jumped up skittishly from her chair. She thought the vampire gave her a strange look, but he moved so fluidly from his chair to the door that it was hard to tell. Still she followed softly behind, trying to appear normal. There was no need to alert him to her theories. Entering the hall, her legs automatically started to go right. They stopped at the sound of his voice; "I thought we might forgo our chess game tonight, in pursuit of a more immediate activity."

"What do you mean?" She inquired breathlessly, afraid to turn around.

"Come with me. There's something we need to take care of."

Amara twisted around, "No! Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Just come with me,"

"That really doesn't make it all that convincing," Amara quipped, her voice thin and panicked. The vampire sighed, as if tired by the whole process, and held out his hand,

"I don't want to have to do it this way Amara,"

"Then don't!" Before she could even blink, his hand shot out with lightening speed and attached itself to her upper arm. She whimpered at the touch of his fingers, which were like long, thin icicles. Turning right he marched down the corridor dragging her behind. Amara didn't even dare struggle: his hands were so cold and her feet so feeble. He continued to lead her down the hallway passing what she thought were the kitchens. Her eyes narrowed: those were the kitchens! She remembered the little butcher knife insignia by the door handle. But this hallway supposed to end! Every afternoon that she had spent exploring the mansion had never suggested something lay beyond the kitchens. He must have taken her down a secret hallway. Amara watched in a mixture of panic and curiosity as doors passed by her on all sides. Briefly, she wondered what was inside before they came to a stop outside one.

"Sino ego invado," the vampire muttered and the door swung inwards, letting them spill in. Once inside he released her arm, and she moved as far away as possible; which meant running into a desk. A desk? She looked again. She was in the middle of some sort of office. A desk sat in the middle with a chair behind it and two in front. Arranged behind were ceiling high bookcases, each containing a neat row of leather-spined books. To the left was a large window, through which a full moon glowed dryly in autumn's chill. What surprised her most was the latest computer system set up on the desk. It looked incredibly out of place in a room that should have Cuban cigar smoke hanging around the ceiling.

"Have a seat," he commanded softly, moving around her to get to the desk. Shaking, she slid down into one of the reception chairs. The vampire reached behind the desk and extracted a manila folder. Rustling around the papers inside he extracted two and placed them before her on the desk. Next he plucked a pen from a holder next to his computer screen and placed it near the papers.

"Will you please sign at the bottom?"

Amara looked up at him, "What is this?"

He stood silent for so long that Amara let her eyes wander to the top of the paper: Marital Union Form B12. Her eyes expanded. Not believing it, she read through the entire document. It was a bunch of legal phrases mashed together with phrases like: 'bound together by law'; 'unbroken except by an order of the court'; and 'Dominic Lucenzia and Amara Brea are to be bond as husband and wife from this day forward'. Amara's face began to melt. She looked up at him again, "What is this?"

"A marriage contract, Miss. Brea," a shadowed figure replied, stepping out of the darkened corner to stand by Dominic. Amara's heartbeat picked up at his appearance. The moonlight shined off his blond waves and extended cuspids.

"Amara, this is Nicholas. He has agreed to be our state witness."

"Then you're serious? What makes you think I'll sign?" Sputtering, Amara had to grab hold of the chair arms to keep control.

"I was hoping you'd sign out of free will and I wouldn't have to force you."

"Why do you want to marry me?'

"It's complicated,"

"I won't sign,"

"Then I will have to take you back and exchange you for your father. I won't be happy at such an inconvenience."

Amara's mind stopped. Her father would die if she didn't marry him. She had already given up her life to him: how much further would she have to go to save her family?

Trembling, she stood up and grabbed the pen by the contract. With a quick twist of wrist, she inked her name once on the first page and twice on the last page of each document. She dropped the pen on the desk, trying to comprehend that she had just been married. Dominic said something, but she didn't hear: her heart was pounding too loud.

Reaching over he took the contracts and the fountain pen and signed as well. When he finished, the man from the corner pulled out a small wooden box from his jacket. From it, he produced a golden stamp and branded the two documents. A maple leaf and two swords lay flat and black on the papers.

"Congratulations. You two are now husband and wife," he said, his honeyed voice dripping with irony. Amara's entire resolve snapped and she fled the room feeling like she was going to be sick.

0-0-0-0-0

Amara spent the next few days in her room. She couldn't face him. Something between hatred and shame kept her in. She hated him for forcing her into marriage, and she was ashamed that she had complied so easily. Why didn't she fight him? That wasn't part of the deal her family had made with him: why should she have to play by new rules?

Something else kept her in as well: fear. Why did he want to marry her? She tried to think of all the reasons people married for: love, money, sex, security, fulfillment…he was a vampire, he couldn't possibly love her and he could just take all the rest. So what did he want her for? The tears streaked her face—this was not how her wedding was supposed to be.

Most of her time was spent in bed trying not to make too much noise—she didn't want him to hear and appear, as he was apt to do. The wind came in three times a day with food. Each time it danced around the bed, displacing her covers and whistling. It seemed to understand the situation though, and usually gave up after a few minutes. Sometimes she ate the food it brought; sometimes she couldn't muster enough humility to get out of bed.

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On the fourth day she was awoken by a knock. The sound aroused her but she didn't comprehend it. A second knock sounded. She sat up more. Dazed, she looked to the left to see a waxing moon slipping in and out of the wispy clouds. The clock on the nightstand said it was eleven. A third knock. There could only be one source. Unsettled she tried to slip back under the covers. She hadn't expected him to come for her so soon.

"Amara?" His smooth voice called from behind the door, "would you like to come out? There's something I want to show you." Amara grimaced—it was probably a nuptial ring. "I think you'll like it." She snuggled deeper under the covers trying to disappear.

"Amara?"

"I'm not coming out!" she yelled, projecting her voice through the blankets.

"I understand," a short pause followed, "but it must be awfully boring in there." Amara started—brooding was boring. She hadn't done anything stimulating in days. But could she just put aside what he had done to her? Her mind thought fast, trying to weigh the consequences of each action. He had played on her one weakness.

"I'll be out in a little bit,"

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Four days of inactivity had left Amara disheveled. Her hair was slick and stuck up on one side and her pajamas weren't faring so well either after four days of crying. Luckily a shower and a change of clothes refreshed her. She felt almost better.

Creeping outside she glanced around. She had been expected him to be waiting outside the door. Slightly annoyed, she walked out the door shutting it with clack. Moving down the stairs she lightly ran her hand down the polished railing, absorbing balance and comfort through her fingertips. At the bottom she looked around the dim foyer wondering where she was supposed to go.

"Good evening," Jumping, Amara grabbed her arms and turned around. She could hardly see him in the dim light. His figure was there though; it was blacker than the night. "I'm glad you came down."

"I didn't come down for you," she told him, moving her arms to cross in front of her chest.

"I know," a long pause ensued, "if you'd follow me, I'd like to show you something." He breezed past her, heading towards the right corridor.

"I'm not falling for that again,"

He rotated slowly towards her, rubbing his chin—as if the concept of her distrust had never occurred to him.

"What if Adelaide or Evangeline showed you the way?"

"Why should I trust them? They were in on it too."

"To an extent. They knew about it, but they disobeyed my orders. I made it very clear they were not to worry you with any abnormal behavior."

Amara pursed her lips. She still wasn't convinced. He sighed, "We won't get anywhere if you don't trust someone,"

Amara straightened her spine trying to appear determined, "I want Adelaide or Evangeline to show me the way."

The vampire bobbed his head and turned towards the staircase, "Adelaide! Evangeline!"

Instantly a breeze picked up by her elbows and started tugging her away down the right corridor. As one drew her along the hall the other danced in-between ruffling her clothes. She giggled at their giddy nature, wondering which was which. "Where are you taking me?" She asked seriously. They only twirled merrily about.

They went down the hall and past a few doors before the winds pulled to a stop outside a set of double doors. Inlaid ivy climbed around the edges of the dark wood, meeting at the top. The bronzed door handles made the entire fixture look as if it had been out in the sun, weathering away.

"Open it," his voice prompted from behind her. Amara's hand reached for the handle and then quickly drew back. What was behind there? What if contrary to Adelaide and Evangeline's reactions it wasn't something good. But then again, nothing could be worse than what had happened a few nights ago. Her palms tingled as they bent the handle downward.

"Oh my…" her breath caught in her throat as a dozen candles flared.

"Do you like it?"

"How could I not?" She replied dashing to the nearest bookcase. Running her fingers over the grainy spines she carefully read the titles: _Commedia, Crime and Punishment, A Christmas Carol, The Chimes. _They were alphabetical by author and then chronological if the author had more than one work. It was a librarian's greatest dream! Amara's breath slowed as her eyes wandered over the titles. English, French, Russian, Sanskrit, the titles all ran together in a big mash. She had never seen so extensive a library. How did she miss this room? Stepping back, she let her head gently fall back, so that it was nearly perpendicular to her body. The library shelves reached all the way to the ceiling: _and they were filled with books. _"Where did you get all these books?"

"Before the days of mass marketed book stores it was quite a challenge."

"Is this…oh my gosh it is! You have a first edition print of T.S. Eliot's _Prufrock and Other Observations_!" Amara pulled the book from it's assigned spot and flipped through the pristine pages, looking for evidence to the contrary.

"That was the hit in London at one time. I had to pay twice its worth just to keep a London banker from getting it and displaying it on his drawing room table."

Amara turned slowly, clutching the book to her chest. "Are you telling me that you were in London in nineteen-ten, when these copies were first distributed?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He queried smugly, swaggering over to a large, love seat in the middle of the room. In her excitement, she hadn't even noticed the furnishings lounging about.

" Well, for one we're in," pausing, Amara bit her lip, "actually I don't where we are." She had subconsciously assumed they were still in the United States. But what if this was somewhere completely different than what her father had described?

"Canada. Ontario to be exact."

"That's a long way from London,"

"So I couldn't have moved between now and nineteen-ten?"

"No, I—I guess I just expected you to have been here for forever."

"Not forever, but for a very long time. I find the secluded woods serve my purposes better than a crowded city."

"Fair enough," she ended the conversation and turned back to the books. Carefully, she replaced Eliot and went in search of someone else. Her purpose was not only exploration but also escape. The more she moved around the library the less contact she had with him. He was a remarkable character for sure, but he'd also had time to polish his individual. Not to mention unknown powers. She hadn't gone into this situation rationally. She had entered it treating him like a captor and more recently like a villain. While he was both, he was also something more: a vampire.

He was a creature of the night. A blood sucking, controlling, manipulative monster. She should have done some research while she was still at home. Found out weaknesses, strengths, tricks, powers, habits, etc. Then she wouldn't be blindly floundering, trying to keep her emotions and resolves steady. His continual exploitation of her weaknesses proved he had done his research. Why hadn't she done hers? Because secretly she had hoped Aurora was right. Angry and trying to isolate herself, Amara shuffled slowly down the row of books.

By the time she reached Emile Zola at the very end she hit a large glass window. Paned, it extended three-fourths of the way up the spring green walls. Outside she could see the forest swaying to the wind's beat. The trees were completely bare now, waiting for winter's blanket to cover them. Exhaling through her nose, she wondered if she should start back down the row or attempt to begin a novel. Either way, she couldn't go back to him.

"How do you like it?" Without the clank of footsteps, he was by her side, gazing down at her with clever eyes.

"It's the most amazing library I've ever seen," she answered honestly—she couldn't be hostile about books.

"Then consider it your wedding present,"

Her eyes found his face so fast her neck cracked at the turn. "No."

"It'll be yours, for your private use only. No one can enter unless you wish it. That includes me."

"No,"

"I want to give you something. I know you're upset about the marriage…"

"No! It's a buy-off!" His lack of action only confirmed her feelings, "You are trying to take my love for literature and project it onto yourself! That's why I've never seen this room all the times I've wandered around. You hid it! I will not accept this room as a gift. I could never walk in here knowing it was the consolation prize for blackmail!"

"You are putting a kink into every single one of my plans," the calmness in his voice after her tirade frightened her. He was not the least bit affected by her passion: he was completely calmed, cold, and calculating. "I knew you were intelligent, but I never took into account your fervor for philosophy."

"What do you mean?" She quivered, shifting her weight from one foot to the next.

"Your love for books is so great, and your morals so unyielding, that you can't even associate it with me." Amara stared at him, eyebrows rumpled over her eyes and lips pressed tightly together.

"I admire that," he continued, clasping his hands behind his back, "More so because it knocked my values back into place. But still, I cannot leave you with nothing."

"I told you, I will not be bought-off,"

"It's not a buy-off. It's a gift. And it will be your choice. Anything your heart desires that I can physically obtain for you will be yours. Just name it."

"There is nothing you can give me that I want," her throat burned at the acidity of her own words. The tears started to well up, making her world blurry.

"Keep it then. And use it at a later time."

Amara shook her head shaking the tears back into their recesses. "I don't understand the point of this. Why force me into a marriage only to feel bad enough to try and make it up to me? For all the reasons I can think of, none of them match."

"It would be, as you imply, completely unnecessary, except that it adds an additional link of security."

"Security? Security for what?"

"Security against you leaving." Amara's knees gave out, causing her to jerk forward. When she righted herself they were shaking. She hadn't expected to ever leave this place. But his words engraved the fact onto her brain, crushing even the remotest of hopes.

"Wouldn't that be more cause for me to leave?"

"Oh no," he chuckled, his voice low and gruff, "it isn't to keep you from leaving. It's to keep others from removing you."

"That doesn't make sense,"

"Psychologically, no. But legally, it's iron clad."

"I still don't understand. Anyone that came to this place would not stop from removing me just because a piece of paper said we were husband and wife." A picture of her father pounding on the doors with his weathered hands flashed into her mind.

"True, you would be removed to a safe location, as would I. But the government would have no idea what to do with me. They'd be too afraid to kill me, and too afraid to let me go. Naturally it would fall to a trial, and all the pressure would be shifted to a jury and judge. Then a battle would rage over which country the trial would proceed in: for see, you are an American citizen married and on file in Canada. And as that battle rages on, all I have to do is point out that the certificate is authentic, as is your signature, and we will be free to go."

Amara trembled and reached out for the bookcase to steady herself. He had this entire thing planned right down to the last detail. That meant he couldn't just want her for a companion—there had to be something else.

"Why am I here?"

"As I told your father, I am in want of a companion,"

"And you would go this far to get and keep one?" She challenged, scanning over him with sharp eyes. He in turn, pierced her face with grey daggers.

"I don't give up easily on my investments,"

"Your logic makes no sense! There are so many easier ways. It's like Occam's Razor…"

"Which would not be applicable in this situation as none of the desired outcomes would be produced by an 'easier' way." His voice grew stronger with each word, which only made Amara puff up. She was going to get answers this time, even if it killed her.

"What is the 'desired outcome'?"

"It will be morning soon,"

Amara wrenched her head behind her. The deep black of night blanched with grey streaks and the stars were beginning to lose their sparkle. "Why won't you answer any of my questions?" She asked, her voice soft at dawn's approach.

"On the contrary, I've answered many of your questions tonight. Probably more than I should." The curtains behind her rolled together and collided: as did the ones on the far side of the room. The flames on the candles grew into tall yellow figures, casting more light into the newly darkened room. Amara watched the light play off his face, illuminating certain features and hiding others.

"But you didn't answer enough,"

"No," he laughed softly, "and I suspect I never shall." He paused and seemed to regard her in a new manner. "I must retire. Stay as long as you'd like. The kitchen is just down the hall. I'm sure the kitchen staff would be pleased to make you anything you'd like. Good day." Bending at the waist and neck, he swiveled on his foot and exited looking like he was struggling to keep normal pace. Amara watched him leave, her mind churning with questions.


	8. Adelaide

**Adelaide**

"Master! Master!" Adelaide called after him, sprinting to catch up. Somewhere behind, she could hear Evangeline huffing along.

"What is it Adelaide?" Dominic stopped on the stairs and turned towards her voice. His mouth was tight and his forehead wrinkled. He was thinking, she could tell. She had been around him since birth: she knew what each expression meant. Even if his condition prevented him from conveying it.

"Did you really mean what you said back there?"

"I mean everything I say,"

"You really have everything planned out? That's not suppose to be how it happens! You're supposed to fall in love. It's not a formula!"

"I never set up the conditions that would make her love me: I merely produced the conditions that would stabilize the situation."

"That's still manipulation!" Evangeline interjected, gasping as she came up the stairs. She never was one for running.

"You can't do that to the poor girl!"

Dominic laughed, his voice echoing in the foyer. "Oh I don't I think can anymore. You saw what happened in there. Every farce I have put up, she has torn down."

"She's awfully bright," Evangeline defended, crossing her pudgy arms.

"She's extraordinarily bright; even more so than I counted on. Which is where I'm running into problems."

"You can't expect to control her. For one she'd figure you out." Said Adelaide matter-of-factly.

"I'm done with that plan. I want to see where she gets on her own. Perhaps then, we can have more moments like tonight." Dominic grinned wickedly and began to climb the stairs up to his chamber. Adelaide and Evangeline huddled together, and watched him leave. As soon as he disappeared around the corner, Evangeline turned towards Adelaide,

"What did he mean by all that?" She asked in confidence, her Irish accent getting in the way of her tongue.

"He likes her," Adelaide whispered, her eyes shining.

"Well he must if he went to all that trouble…"

"No, I mean he really likes her!'

"Well he's supposed to. Otherwise this curse will never be…"

"No, he really, really likes her!"

"What d'ya mean?"

"Evangeline," Adelaide grabbed her by the shoulders and started to shake her, "he likes that she's messing up his plans. It's exciting! Think about: with the exception of one or two instances, everything in his life has gone according to his plan. And now she's challenging him. Oh, it's all so romantic!" Giggling, Adelaide started to dance down the stairs, heading for the kitchens.

"How is that romantic? It just sounds to me like he's added more give to her leash!" Evangeline called after her.

"No, it's different! He said he wanted to see what she could do on her own! Oh! This is it Evangeline! She's the one!" Laughing brightly, Adelaide twirled down the corridor, lost in her own fantasies.

"I dunno. It seems like an awful big stretch—for both of 'em to change." Shaking her head, Evangeline trudged up the stairs to help the other maids clean the chambers.


	9. The Garden

**The Garden**

Amara sighed and flopped down onto the couch. She should probably go lay down in her room, but she was tried and it was easier to think while surrounded by literature. Trying to be organized, she made a list of facts she had discovered, starting with the reason for the marriage. When she finished mentally listing them, she tried to stand back and look at them as a whole. All she got was a jumbled mess of facts. She almost knew less than when she started. Placing her elbows on her knees, she reached up to rub her temples. She disliked not knowing; and his attempt to conceal things from her only whetted her curiosity.

She wished her sisters were here. Though she never went to them for anything beyond "do these shoes match this sweater?" it still would've been nice to ask their opinions. Closing her eyes she laid her cheek against the scratchy decorative pillows and tried to imagine their responses. Aurora, the happy-go-lucky, optimist that she was, would advocate forgiveness and second chances. Allene would probably recount the tale of the farmer who thought he tamed a coyote only to have it turn around and kill his chickens. "I've told people a thousand times, it's just their nature—you can't tame wild beasts," she'd say. And her father—what would he say? Probably something completely ambiguous, and yet, fairly helpful.

"How do you feel about the situation?" He'd ask.

"Frustrated," she'd reply with a snarl, "I have all these questions and no one will answer them."

"Then it should seem fairly obvious," he would say.

"I should find them myself? But how? He won't tell me anything."

"Sweetheart, how do you learn anything?"

Amara hesitated, thinking of all the conventional methods of learning before finally hitting on his meaning, "Always be curious."

"Exactly," Thomas smiled at his daughter as she closed her eyes against the pillow.

Accidentally falling asleep after the imaginary discussion with her father, Amara awoke when the sun was low enough to hit her eyes. Tip-toeing out of the library she made it upstairs just in time to change and have Adelaide and Evangeline escort her down. The vampire greeted her as usual and they said no more to each other through dinner. After not eating for an entire day, Amara was famished and didn't mind the lack of conversation. It wasn't until the end that he spoke,

"Would you like to see the gardens?"

Amara set down the wine glass she had just raised to her lips. "Isn't it a little late? Nothing thrives in November."

"Maybe not in a conventional garden,"

At the word 'conventional', Amara recalled her father's story of the spring garden in October. Was he referring to the ever-blooming rose garden? That was a curiosity within itself, but Amara wanted to see it for another reason: it was the crime scene.

"Alright," She conceded, rising from the table.

Out in the hall she started to go left, expecting to go pick out a coat from the room, but his hand caught hold of hers and yanked her back. The shock of the touch was more startling than the frosty fingers. The last time he had touched her was to drag her down the aisle.

"This way,"

"Won't I need a coat?"

"Adelaide will get it for you,"

"Oh," she would rather get it herself, if that meant letting go of his hand. His cold hand stuck to hers was such an awkward feeling she was surprised he didn't feel it too. Maybe he couldn't, and that's why his hands were always so cold. A shiver ran through her body like a spasm. They moved down the hallway, hand in hand, past the kitchens and the rooms beyond it. Somewhere along here was the office she had signed herself away in. After several minutes they finally reached what appeared to be the end: two glass-paned doors. Frost was creeping along the edges of the glass, making it hard to see. Through them she could depict vegetation lighted by the white of the moon and stars. Beyond it was a shadowed barricade.

"Here you are," pulling her eyes away from the windowed door she saw him holding out a coat in the dimness. Turning her back to him, she slipped her arms into the sleeves as he pulled it upwards. Somewhere along the way his hands ended up grasping her shoulders. Amara stiffened. She wasn't comfortable with this whole touching thing. Nobody besides her family had ever had close contact with her. The temperature and nature of his hands didn't help the situation.

Releasing her shoulders after a few seconds, he leaned past her and pulled the doors inward. Gesturing her out first, he soon followed. Walking into the night, she was greeted with a crisp kiss. The moon smiled and the sky blushed darker. Her breath curled into foggy swirls as it escaped her mouth. Staring into the garden she realized with a start that it was confused. The garden didn't seem to comprehend the frigid air or chilly soil. Flowers popped up, waiting to dance in the morning's rays, while trees hung limp with fruit, their knotted branches straining under the weight. Even in the moonlight, she could see the emeralds, scarlets, lemons, periwinkles, and fuchsias of the garden.

"How is this possible?" She breathed, bending down to examine a tiny clump of violets.

"Magic," He replied from above her.

"That seems too simple an answer,"

"Remember Occam's Razor?"

She looked up at him. He was grinning widely. "You're making fun of me!"

"No. Just turning your knowledge against you,"

"Just wait," rising she brushed her hands off, even though they failed to touch the ground, "one day I'll turn your knowledge against you."

"I have no doubt you will. That's why I have to censor most of what I say to you."

Scoffing, Amara drifted towards another group of foliage. "I don't understand what kind of companion you're looking for, if you won't trust them enough to speak openly,"

He smirked, "See, you've already done it. But I'm not naïve enough to fall for that."

"I guess I'll just have to try harder," she said pertly, drifting towards a different section of the garden.

"I'm sure one day you'll get it," he said with a small laugh, "But come this way, there's something I want to show you." Spinning on his heel, the vampire marched off. Surprised, Amara sprinted to catch him. He immediately slowed down and waited for her to break even with him. His gait then matched her slower human one. Weaving in and around grasses, trees, and flowers, he ushered her towards the back corner of the garden, where one edge of the wall meet the other.

As they come nearer and nearer, Amara began to catch scent of something sickly sweet. It smelled like an over-fertilized flower. Coming closer to the corner, she began to see outlines of huge flower heads. Putting the connection together, she realized where he was taking her. The scent was so heavy now she almost had to put a hand to her nose. How she hated that smell!

He brought her to a stop in front of the largest of the bushes and stepped aside, waiting for her to comment. Amara couldn't bring herself to say anything. She felt sick.

"I thought roses were your favorite,"

"They were. Until I started receiving about a hundred a week,"

Laughing, he sat down on a nearby stone bench, "Did you like that trick?"

"Not at all. It was completely cumbersome. The entire house was filled with roses. I stopped breathing air and started breathing perfume."

"Why didn't you tell your family?"

Flinching, Amara hugged her arms around herself, "How did you know about that?"

"I've watched your family since the moment your father arrived home,"

"I didn't want to go under house arrest," Amara wrapped her arms against the chill, "why did you send them only to me?"

"I was trying to frighten one of you into coming. You were the one harboring the most guilt. But you even managed to foil that plan."

Laughing, Amara threw her head back to catch sight of the stars. "It's so beautiful out here."

"Yes it is," he replied mystically. Slightly uncomfortable, Amara floated away from the roses and towards the other end of the garden. Drifting aimlessly, she stayed parallel to the garden wall, running her fingers over the craggy plaster and waxy ivy. Suddenly she halted. Her fingers were on something smooth and weathered. Backing up a few paces she examined the part of the wall her hand touched. Barely visible beneath the thick ivy, she could see wood. Trying not to harm the ivy, she pulled it gently to the side to reveal a wooden door. Wrought iron guarded its hinges and handle, making the structure appear older than it probably was. Pulling the curtain of ivy further to one side, she reached for the handle.

"It leads to the outside,"

Jumping, Amara dropped the curtain over the door. Attempting to regain her composure, she quickly asked, "What's out there? The forest?"

"Among other things," he said, placing himself between her and the door. Extending his hand, he placed it gently against the door. "Signum," he muttered. Lifting his hand from the door, he immediately replaced it and pushed roughly against the door. It didn't budge. He cocked his head to one side so his serious grey eyes penetrated her heart, "You must never venture outside these walls without me. Understand?"

"Why?" Amara queried, eyeing the door with longing eyes. What was he trying to hide now?

"If you venture into those woods, you probably won't come back."

"They don't seem that dangerous," she said scornfully, "they're just woods."

"I suppose you're prepared to take on the two werewolf clans—one in the north and the other in the west—goblins, pixies, a few water kappas, grindylows, the trees, and the fairy."

"What if I stayed in the sunlight and away from the water?"

His head fell back and barked, "You don't know much about magical creatures do you?"

"It's not like they offer a class in high school," protesting, she placed her hands on her hips, "Besides none of those creatures have ever been proven to exist. I'm only believing you because I'm trapped in a huge mansion with a vampire and invisible servants."

"Then I'll give you a quick lesson," he said menacingly, taking a step towards her, "werewolves, when the full moon comes around will rip you to shreds. And if you're caught in the middle of one of the clan battles, which can take place in the day, you'll be torn apart as well. Now goblins are only after one thing. Do you know what that is?"

"Gold?" she guessed with a grimace.

"Close. They like glittering items, but what they're mostly after are brides. Pretty human girls they can drag down to their caverns to bear their squalling young," Amara's face twisted up in disgust. He smirked at her expression, "yes, it's as pleasant as it sounds. There aren't many girls prancing around this forest, so they might make an exception for you and come out in the daylight. Pixies will lead you astray for sure. Probably right to the entrance of a werewolf den. Water kappas and grindylows will drag you down to the depths of the ponds and lakes if you get too close to the water. The trees like to play games and will switch places in order to confuse you. And the fairy," he stopped listing the creatures on his fingers and instead occupied the fingers with rubbing his chin, "well even I can't predict what she will do."

"I thought fairies were good. Like in Pinocchio and Peter Pan." She insisted, trying to prove she had a theoretical out if she were to adventure into the woods.

"Fairies are neither good nor bad. They have their own set of morals, much different from ours. They adhere to them without fail."

His tone was void of cynicism and sarcasm. Amara felt her heart jump, then race ahead. This was real magic! The kind she had read and dreamed about as a child. She had to see it. "What if you went with me?"

"Why do you want to see the woods?"

Shrugging her shoulders she turned back to look at the door, "I don't know. I'm curious."

"If I show you the woods, will you promise never to enter them?"

"Yes," she promised immediately, surprised he had made such a proposition.

"Fine. Tomorrow night I will take you into the woods,"

"Fine," Amara smiled; her insides twisting up in excitement.


	10. The Enchanted Forest

**The Enchanted Forest**

Amara ate dinner so rapidly she had to wait several minutes for Dominic to finish. In that time she fidgeted in her seat and played with the tassel on the table runner. As soon as he placed his goblet down for the last time, she jumped up and sprinted towards the door.

"Don't be in such a hurry," he told her, walking slowly behind.

"How can I not be? This is the most exciting thing to happen in days!"

"In fifteen minutes you'll be asking me to take you back,"  
"I doubt that," she countered, walking briskly down the corridor, "how exciting to explore new territory!" She felt like a kid again, making forays out into the woods by her house, looking for magic and artifacts. But this time it was real! A vampire was going to escort her around an enchanted forest. Making up scenarios in her head of the magic she would encounter, she practically skipped down the corridor.

"You're more excited for this than you were for the library," he commented at the end of the passageway, helping her into her coat again.

"No. I'm just expressing my excitement differently," she retorted, sliding her arms into the silk lined coat.

"I don't know what you're expecting, but it won't be anything exciting,"

"Then why all the warnings?" She reposted, marching out the door he held open for him.

"It's still dangerous," he said, closing the door as he followed her out into the garden, "but the danger is severely decreased by my presence."

"Hmm," huffing. Amara headed towards where she had last seen the door. The vampire walked slowly behind, acting like the owner of a rambunctious puppy. Once reaching the door, Amara pulled aside the ivy and tried the handle. It was locked. Impatient, she jumped up and down in a charade of fighting off the cold. Eventually he made his way over to her, and stretching out his hand laid it on the door.

"Before we venture outwards, you must follow some rules," he gazed at her with weary charcoal eyes. She nodded compliantly, trying to reassure him of her good behavior. Understanding, he continued, "you must stay close to me at all times. Don't wander off without me. And you must do as I say—no matter how ridiculous it seems. Do you understand?"

"Yes,"

"If for some reason we get separated, head back for the mansion. Follow the northern star, it will lead you right back here. Don't trust the trees or anything else in these woods." Turning from her he mumbled, and reaching down for the handle and swung the door open.

He went out first into the darkness, and she followed. Amara was expecting soft music and little glowing lights flitting around. All she could perceive were tall, rough trees and scraggly bushes leading further into the darkness. Just ahead of them was a barely visible path, transversing into the forest. Screwing on a courageous face, Amara tried to hide her initial disappointment by striding directly into the forest. This time the vampire kept pace.

Walking into the forest at first was like being on a mountain trek. The path was well lit and free of obstructive brush. But as she moved further and further inwards, the bushes started to creep forward and the trees hovered jeeringly over the path. Eventually she came to the point where the path vanished into the lightless night.

"Would you like to head back?" He asked from behind her.

Amara placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the surrounding terrain. She began to sympathize with Sacagawea who had to deal with two men. Scanning the area, her eyes landed on the darkest part of the forest: she might as well go as deep as she could while out here. She might never get another opportunity. "Let's go this way," pointing to the right, she headed towards the most menacing part of the forest. He followed silently.

Everything was going perfectly for the first few minutes, until the thick canopy of trees blocked out the already weak moonlight. Completely blinded, she stepped carefully, intending to avoid fallen branches. Suddenly she lurched forward and hit the ground with an audible thunk.

"Ofuh," the air escaped from her lungs in one quick rush.

"Amara!"

Amara raised her head: something was cackling in the bushes to the left. She started to raise herself up on her knees when moist fingers wrapped themselves around her ankles. They yanked sharply, causing her to fall back to the ground. Dragging her backwards into the brush chortling grew louder and wilder. Scrambling, she grabbed at dirt and loose rocks, but neither stopped the force pulling her from behind.

"Let go!" Shouting, she twisted her body so she now lay on her back. She kicked her legs, trying to dislodge the fingers. Whatever had hold of her only cachinnated in shrill bursts. "Stop it!" she stated shrilly. Something else took hold of her arm just below the elbow and started to pull upwards. Panicking she thrashed harder. The fingers encircling her arm were much stronger than both her and the fingers circumscribing her ankle, and dominated the battle by pulling her upright. Off of the ground, the fingers on her arm released her only to relocate themselves across her collarbone. The adjoining arm squeezed tight across her waist, pressing her against a cold body. Her breath came in short, heavy heaves. She wondered if she should call for Dominic. Where had he gone anyway?

"Hey! That's ours!" A whiny voice called from the bushes ahead. Two luminescent orbs bobbed into view at about waist-height. A pair of hazy orange ones followed closely behind.

"Yeah! We caughts it fair and square!"

A loud, clear hiss exploded above her right ear startling the orbs back a few feet.

"We're sorry!" The two sets of orbs both cowered.

"Yeah! We didn't realize she was taken! Come on Marg!" The orange set of orbs disappeared quickly in a crunching of dry twigs and leaves.

"Good fortunes to you sir. She's an awful pretty one. Should make a nice meal for any upstandin' gentleman,"

Another hiss sounded and the creature scrambled away, calling for his friend to wait. "Are you alright?" The grip across her collarbone dropped leaving her free to move.

"Yeah," she choked, taking a step away to catch her breath. "What were those things?"

"Goblins. Out hunting for a bride," He teased, his voice tinged with mortality.

"Somebody should tell them I'm already taken,"

"Don't worry, I did,"

Amara shifted her weight nervously, still unsettled from her first encounter with the forest. "I didn't know vampires hissed," she said off-handedly, trying to distract both herself and him.

"Roaring is too clichéd for us,"

Amara genuinely laughed. It was true in a sense. Every powerful beast from bears to werewolves roared—so much in fact that it kind of lost its effect.

"Do you still want to continue on?" He inquired, coming to stand right next to her. She could feel the smooth silk of his shirt lightly snagging on the wool of her coat.

"Yes," she replied shakily, "I'm not giving up just because I almost got kidnapped."

"Then might I suggest we explore an area with better light?"

Amara considered his words carefully. The logical thing to do would be to move to a section with more lighting. But then again, nothing interesting was bound to happen.

"It hardly seems adventurous…" she posed, waiting to hear his advice.

"Stumbling around in the dark hardly seems practical," he retorted sensibly.

"Nobody ever went on an adventure measuring out the practicalities of the situation," she bantered, wondering how long he would hold to his opinion.

"If we're going to continue on in the dark, I want you to wear this," Amara faintly saw his arms pull something from his neck, up over his head. Dangling it from a closed hand, he presented it to her.

"What is it?" She inquired, gently taking the necklace from his hand. A microscopic ray of light hit the silver chain causing it to spark in the dark.

"It's Saint Christopher. He'll guard you in your travels."

Amara ran her thumb over the medallion, examining the engraving by feel alone. There was the body, with a tiny hump representing the Christ child, and the thin line was probably his staff. Amara recalled a similar medal, from her childhood. It had been tarnished an orangey bronze, and dangled from a thicker chain. Her mother made her father wear it every time he traveled to a convention. She should have been wearing it, the day she left for New York City. Maybe it would have stopped the jeep on the other side of the road from crossing the median.

"Won't you need it?" She urged, holding the medal back out to him. She didn't feel right wearing a medal. Especially since her family stopped being Catholic after her mother's death. Besides it was his medal: there had to be something different about a vampire's medal. Could vampires be religious? Weren't they created by the devil?

"You have more need of it," he told her, taking the necklace from her outstretched hand and placing it over her head, "You'll still have to hold on to me the rest of the way,"

"Okay," she replied hesitantly. Blindly moving her arms to the side she groped the dark searching for his figure. An icy grip contacted her hands and pulled them close to a chilled body. Holding hands, they ambled slowly through the forest. Occasionally Amara would stumble on a loose rock or moldering branch and Dominic would steady her. At which point she would unconsciously touch the medallion around her neck. After about half-an-hour of moving through the murk they came to a lighted glade. The moon and stars shone down like spotlights on the pond center stage. It shimmered a diamond blue against the shadowy trees. Still holding her hand he gently led her towards the water.

"What about kappas and grindylows?" She asked in a low voice.

"Worth the risk for what we might be able to see," pulling up to the shore he released her hand and motioned her closer. Timidly, she crept next to him and looked to where his finger pointed. Gasping, she covered her mouth in awe. Just below the surface of the water was a glittering city. Spires projected upward in a glittering gold as pillars rose into Grecian styled columns. It looked like a miniature castle placed directly in the middle of the pond.

"What is it?" She breathed, crouching down next to him. All she could hear was the soft lap of the water and his breathing. Turning her head she spoke softly again, "Dominic?" He looked comatose. His pale face was relaxed and his misty grey eyes watched the surface intently. "Dominic?" she asked again, her voice panicked. What was wrong with him? She was about to stretch out her arm and give him a small shake when a voice from the woods called out:

"Amara…" It whispered delicately, drawling on the last a, "Amara…" her head snapped up and her eyes darted around wildly.

"Who is that?" She said, rising up in panic. If her memory was right, she knew exactly whom the voice belonged to. But it was impossible for her to hear it again.

"Come here darling. Follow me," the voice cooed sweetly. A tiny, speck of light bobbled into view. Entranced, Amara stretched out her fingers to touch the light. At the sight of her fingers the light jerked up and ran off into the forest.

"Wait!" She cried running after it.

"Follow me my darling. Come to me," the voice repeated from just ahead. Amara chased after the glowing light, trying desperately to catch it. If only she could capture it—then she'd see if the voice really was there.

A hundred yards away from the pond, she was still trailing after the glowing light. But it was becoming increasingly more difficult. The forest was getting thicker and she suspected the foliage lurked near the path just to trip her. But the voice kept calling encouragements and she dutifully followed. She had to see if the voice was real.

All at once the light stopped in the middle of a small clearing. A single ray of moonlight fell down in the middle, illuminating a young woman sitting prettily on a decayed stump. Amara gaped at the beautiful woman. Her hair was a shimmering river of rust cascading down her shoulders and back in gentle waves. Moonlight reflected off her luminescent skin, making it sparkle as well. But what struck Amara speechless were the deep pools of emerald, observing her intelligently behind dark lids. They were more mesmerizing than Dominic's. The woman smiled vivaciously at her, her crimson lips barely parting.

"Hello my dear," she said airily, penetrating Amara with her deep eyes. As she spoke the light whirled towards her. Catching it in her palm, like a firefly, the woman pushed it into a locket she wore around her neck, and snapped it shut. Saddened, Amara took a step forward in an attempt to recover the light.

"Who are you?" She questioned timidly.

"My name is Luczia,"

"And you led me here?"

"Yes," she grinned wickedly, "I wanted to see the young girl Dominic finally picked."

Concerned, Amara hugged her arms around herself, "What do you want?"

"Come, stand in front of me," the woman, Luczia, commanded. Not able or daring to disobey, Amara took the necessary steps to close the space between them. Once Amara stood before her, the enchanting woman stood up and circled her like a hawk. Amara's muscles tensed. "Not bad. Once you fill out more, you won't be quite so gangly," if it hadn't been true Amara would have protested. But as it was true and she wasn't about to challenge an obviously supernatural being, Amara kept her lips together.

"You're not as pretty as the others," the woman told her, coming to stand in her line of vision, "but I suppose he was taking the high road and picked the intelligent one. It was for the best though: the other ones would have driven him mad."

"Who are you?" Amara repeated with a bit of scorn; who was this woman to call her ugly and her sisters' stupid?

Luczia laughed, "I'm the fairy of these woods. Well to an extent. My old home was in Italy. Hasn't Dominic told you of me?"

"No," Amara said reluctantly, remembering all that Dominic had told her about the forest. "I should get going. I need to get back." She started to turn away only to have the fairy grab her wrist and pull her back.

"Don't be in such a rush my dear; there is still much I need to talk to you about. Besides, Dominic still has no idea that you're gone. He's under my spell. He won't awaken from his stupor until I command it. Have a seat," pushing Amara onto the stump, she began to circle her menacingly. Coming to a stop near her shoulder, she leaned down and leering in her face asked, "So how is old Dominic? Still as domineering and manipulative as when I left him no doubt. So tell me, how is he?"

"What exactly is your connection to Dominic?" Amara asked feebly, feeling scrawny under this powerful woman's eye.

"Why dear heart! I'm the one who…" her eyes rapidly contracted in understanding, "he hasn't told you? That noble fool! Well I suppose it ensures his success if you're ignorant," giggling wildly, she moved behind Amara. "Let me play with your hair dear. It's so luxurious. Shame that you cut it off in the prime of its life." Luczia chatted gaily, twisting Amara's short hair into different designs. Picking a tiny periwinkle from the ground nearby, she weaved it into her hair and continued to gossip, "Dominic loves long hair. That's how he fell in love with Varanese. She had the most lustrous golden hair in all of Italy. I often thought 'if only I had hair like that, then he would love me too'. But things hardly work out that way, do they?" Sighing, Luczia finished with Amara's hair and pulled away to examine her creation. Amara delicately felt the sides of her head wondering about the sanity of the fairy and the appearance of her hair.

"Well thank you. But I better get going," rising, Amara attempted to leave, only to be plucked back.

"Not so fast dear," the fairy chastised threateningly, "I want you to tell me something. Are you in love with him?" Flushing, Amara pursed her lips together.

"And I want you to tell me some things,"

"I asked first,"

"And I don't have to answer,"

"Selfish girl!" The fairy hissed, balling her hands at her sides, "You answer me or I'll turn you into a toad!" To put her words into action the fairy's hand shot out to grab Amara's arm. The hand quickly recoiled accompanied by a screech. "You shocked me!" She shrieked, cradling her limp arm.

"What? I didn't do anything to you!" Amara cried, jumping off the stump.

"No, how could you? You're just a scrawny mortal! But he probably did something. What was it? Did he put a spell on you? Give you a charm to keep evil away? Well?" Luczia accused, taking several menacing steps towards Amara.

"No," she said firmly, taking one step back for every step forward Luczia made. Fairly soon she ran into a tree, and was cornered by the fairy.

"What did he do dear?" Luczia put her face so close to Amara's that some of her red hair fell across Amara's nose.

"Nothing," she repeated honestly, wishing she could push the fairy back a pace or two.

"I don't believe you," she sneered. Without warning she began to paw all over Amara's coat looking for something. Amara didn't resist much other than squirming uncomfortably. She wouldn't find anything anyways. As far as Amara knew, he hadn't put a charm on her. Not that she was aware vampires could do that. Unbuttoning the flaps of her black pea coat, the fairy ripped them open and screamed. Panicked, Amara looked down, but all she saw was the green sweater she had been wearing earlier and the thin silver chain with Saint Christopher's medal.

"His medal! His medal is protecting you!" She vociferated. But just as quickly, the storm in her face pacified and her grip on Amara's coat slackened. "He gave you his medal."

"Just to wear in the forest," Amara whispered trying to belittle it's apparent worth.

"He always wears it. It's his identity. I can't believe he would let you wear it," She looked up at Amara with sad, green eyes, "That answers my question." Turning loose her coat, the woman backed up and slowly started towards the woods. Breathing heavily Amara's eyes followed her figure suspiciously: what was all that about? Before she reached the edge of the clearing, Amara called out to her,

"Wait!" The woman turned around, her features drooping, "Can you tell me one thing?" The fairy regarded her poignantly and nodded her head sending some loose waves into her eyes.

"Did you use my mother's voice to lead me here?"

"I don't know whose voice that was. My magic delves deep into your subconscious to locate a voice you want to hear again. Someone you would follow: particularly a lost loved one. I don't know which voice my magic chose." She started to move away, but as if suddenly remembering what she had come for she turned back to Amara: "You better hurry back to him. My spell won't last much longer. If he finds out you're missing we'll both be in trouble." With that she disappeared into the trees.

Amara ran through the woods, her hair falling loose from whatever designs the fairy had put it in. It wasn't long before she burst through a thorny bush and into the clearing with the lake. Breathing a sigh of relief she strode casually towards Dominic. As she approached the lake, he stood up and shook his head, as if clearing sleep from it. Suddenly his head started to jerk in all directions. It snapped over his shoulder and caught sight of her: his muscles visibly eased.

"Don't wander too far," he warned, holding out his hand to her. Stepping up quickly, she slipped her hand in his. Closing his fingers around her hand he drew her close to the lake. "Look," he whispered, waving a hand across the pond. Amara gazed on the tiny castle again, her eyes fogged over. After several seconds of silence, she realized he was peering at her, waiting for her to say something.

"What is it?" she obliged him with a question.

"The mermaid's city," he replied concernedly.

"It looks small,"

"It's because it lies so far below the surface. You can only see it on clear nights. Are you all right?" He queried, tacking his concern onto the end.

"I'm fine," she insisted, still gazing at the water, "I'm just thinking."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Have you ever been down there?" Indicating the mermaid city, she hoped to throw him off course. If he asked again, she was bound by agreement to tell the truth. She wished he wouldn't. The fairy had said so many disturbing things to her, she dreaded recounting it. Especially since most of it concerned him. That was delving too deep into his personal affairs.

"No," he answered warily, "I've never been to the mermaid's city. You do know that I can read your mind if I wish to. If you don't tell me what's upsetting you, I'll consider it a breach of our deal and will feel no scruples in reading your thoughts. Tell me what's wrong."

Amara quickly shut down her brain, trying to scatter the evidence. Hopefully he didn't see anything. "I don't remember that being a condition of our deal,"

"I just added it,"

"I can't reserve the right to remain silent?" She demanded forcefully. The vampire regarded her for a moment and then sighed.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't wish too,"

"Thank you," she said gratefully, shivering against the wintry air.

"We better get you back before you catch a chill," holding out his hand for the last time, Amara placed hers into it. They moved swiftly away from the forest.

Amara had trouble sleeping that morning. Up until now she had adjusted fairly well to her new schedule, waking every night around dusk and falling asleep near dawn. She blamed the upset of her schedule on the fairy. The captivating woman had implanted so many ideas and questions into her brain it was hard to decipher them from fact. Why had Dominic given her the necklace if it obviously meant so much to him? She had never seen it before, so she assumed it existed under his usual loose silk shirts. If that was true, than it must be important: so why give it to her if he himself meant to escort her through the forest? He had not just lent it to her either: _he gave it to her_.

After they returned to the mansion and were saying their good-byes she had taken the necklace off and held it out to him. "Keep it," he had said, wrapping her hands around it, like they did in those cheesy films Aurora was so fond of.

"But it's yours," she had insisted, wanting no part of it.

"Consider it yours now. A piece of me to watch over you and keep you from too much trouble." Smiling, he had left for his chambers, leaving her alone outside her room. Once in her possession, she didn't have the heart to abandon the medal to a table or shelf. So she wore it around her own neck. The chain had wiggled its way from outside her nightgown to settle next to her left breast. It was bitter cold and gave her the shivers.

The presentation of the chain inevitably led her mind to the biggest question of all: did he have feelings—other than friendship—for her? That seemed to be the fairy's biggest concern. It would explain things like the marriage and the sudden need to hold her hand everywhere. True, she was warming to him, but she could never love him. He was a vampire. A blood-sucking beast that had tore her from her family and her life. No, she decided, snuggling deeper into the covers, she could never love him.


	11. Hemingway and Bambalina

_If the readers would kindly review this chapter it would be much appreciated! I have several misgivings about this chapter and am not sure if I like it. It may undergo serious revision during the (duh) revision stage. But any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Likes, dislikes, confusion, etc. Thank you very much! _

_-bn-_

_**Hemingway and Bambalina**_

In the following weeks Amara watched him closely marking any behavior indicating a stronger feeling than friendship. He provided evidence equally informative and ambiguous. Like escorting her up to her room every morning. He had always done so, when she indicated she was retiring around the time when he was retiring. But now it was different, he seemed to wait on the edges of their conversations for something. It reminded her of watching Aurora's first date through the window. Todd, the gawky boy from her third hour had taken her out to dinner and a movie before bringing her home. As they stood in the cold February air, Todd had shifted around, his hands deep in his pockets. Amara remembered clearly how poised and expectant Aurora had been, waiting for Todd to get up enough guts to lean in and kiss her goodnight. At last Todd took the plunge and smashed his lips against Aurora's. Amara and Allene had laughed for days about the awkward kiss. It didn't seem so funny now that it was happening to her. The worse part was that she felt like jittery Todd, instead of collected Aurora.

What frustrated Amara most about his expectancy was that she had no proof. There was no clear signal to indicate that's what he was waiting for. All of her speculation came from feeling and she had read too many stories about women who drew conclusions based on speculation alone. They always wound up in embarrassing, humbling messes. She refused to be another stereotype.

So she watched him, waiting for any stunning evidence. In the meantime she held off any advances by acting completely naïve. If he pulled out her chair for her at dinner, she chatted brightly, pretending it was something normal rather than chivalrous. If he gazed at her with too loving an eye she changed the subject to something controversial. If he tried to hold her hand while walking out in the wintry garden, she managed to slip loose in order to examine a flower.

Despite her varying scruples about him, Amara was glad for Dominic's company. In a stuffy house devoid of humans and other forms of entertainment, he was a welcome breeze. His obvious intelligence and combative nature made him an interesting conversation partner.

"Why don't you like Hemingway?"

"I might if I was ten-years-old," she retorted, running her fingers and eyes over the other spines on the shelf.

"That's the beauty of his work. It's simplistic,"

"Too simplistic! It has no character depth,"

"Are you talking about Hemingway or _The Old Man and the Sea_?"

"Both!" She exclaimed, sliding a copy of _Anna Karenina_ from its cozy niche. The candles from a nearby holder shined off the glossy leather surface.

"And I suppose you like Tolstoy's flagrant characterizations,"

"Flagrant?" she raised her eyebrows in insult. "Tolstoy's characters are some of the most realistic and believable characters ever created."

"Perhaps. But don't you think heavy characterizations distract from the plot?" Resting an elbow against the shelf he leaned towards her suggestively.

"Maybe," she replied, ignoring how close he was by examining the first pages of _Anna Karenina_, "But that's the point of some books isn't it?"

"So you like character studies better than plots?"

Amara stopped half-reading and did a mental checklist of all her favorite books: character study, plot, character study, character study, character study, plot…

"Yes," she said at last, closing the book with a soft snap, "I like character studies better than plots."

He smiled, "Me too."

Amara started, "Wait, you spent all that time defending Hemingway, but you like character studies?"

"I don't think Hemingway's worth as a writer should be overlooked,"

"I never said he wasn't a worthwhile writer—he just writes with a third grade vocabulary trying to weave a complex allusion."

"Rather like Christ and his parables,"

"Hemingway was not like Christ,"

"How do you know? Have you ever met either?"

"Hemingway was a drunk with too many cats,"

"And Jesus made wine out of water,"

Amara covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the laughter. After her bout she gazed up at him in amusement, "What were we talking about?"

"_The Old Man and the Sea_," he answered softly, "which by the way, is an allusion to the Passion."

"How?" She countered, vaguely recalling a similar discussion in her high school literature class.

"Think about it, he's fishing out on the sea. Christ is referred to as the fisher…"

"Of men," she mumbled over his speech.

"While he's out fishing for followers a group of sharks start circling. He struggles to shore trying to protect his fish. But eventually he stumbles up to his shack, bearing…"

"A mast that looks like a cross," she smirked, "clever. But why write a story that's been told for thousands of years?"

Laughing he pushed himself off the bookshelf to stand upright, "How can you not? Every story is interconnected in some way. I think the term used is intertextuality."

"I wish this was the stuff they had taught in Literature 101. All my professor ever talked about was grammar." Making a face, Amara replaced _Anna Karenina_, making a mental note of where she placed it.

"There's a really great book over here," breezing past her, he made towards the eastern window, "that's all about literary theory and deciphering texts."

Interested, Amara followed him towards the beginning of the bookshelves. Reaching over his head, he plucked out a red-leathered book and brought it down to eye level. Examining the book with an objective eye, he held it out to her. Gently taking it, she read the title: _The Mathematics of Literature_.

"It's a lot more interesting than what it sounds," he said, watching her for any sign of dislike.

"It sounds great. Thank you." She said softly, swiping her hand over to the cover.

"You're welcome,"

Except for those little, literary debates, Amara's life had become increasingly boring. Every day was the same as the last: same scenery, same persons, same events. Running out of things to say, they had even reverted back to chess. Amara was growing stultified. Nothing new or exciting had happened since Dominic had taken her into the forest. While not a two-year-old, Amara was perfectly capable of entertaining herself: when adequate resources were available. There was nothing in the mansion except books and him. While both interesting, they were growing tedious.

One night, she snapped: "Isn't there something else we can do?"

He looked slowly up from the dusty volume in his hands, "Like what?"

"Something!" She cried, curling her legs up under her, "I'm tired of routine! I'm going mad!" She phrased it much more politely than she felt. If she really had spoken her mind the sentence would have contained the words, "so boring"; "I'm about to jump off a cliff"; "I'm sick of talking about literature!"

He smiled gently at her, "You don't have to spare my feelings. I was wondering when you would finally get bored. You lasted longer than I thought."

"You were just going to go on until I said something?"

"I wanted to see how long you would last. And now I have a rough estimate of how many days I have to invent a new activity for you."

Sitting up straighter she grabbed an embroidered pillow and hugged it to her chest. "That's sick. And I'm perfectly capable of entertaining myself. But I've already exhausted the possibilities here. I can't go into the woods, I go into the garden every night, I read every day, and the interesting rooms are all hidden." It was true: some of the rooms in the eastern and northern parts of the house were mysteriously locked. She would know! She took up exploring in the day whenever she was bored. Consequently, those locked doors were in the parts of the house where the office and Dominic resided.

"How is that sick?" He asked, ignore her accusation. Standing up from the adjacent couch, he walked over to the nearest bookshelf to replace the book.

"Because it's like I'm a lab rat. You watch and measure my reactions to controlled stimuli and then document it. It's sick."

"It's not sick. It's more or less like a character study," he grinned pretentiously. Amara stared straight at him, her tongue so hot and seething, she had to bite it to keep it under control. Seeing her serious manner, his grin slackened and his eyes sparked, "I thought this is what you wanted—not to be controlled."

"I didn't say I wanted to be treated like a character from a book! I don't want to be a persona you can poke and prod and examine," she retorted, sitting up straight as a pin. His face turned completely to alabaster; but Amara could discern his eyes working busily in his stone face. Sometimes it seemed like that was the only part of his face that worked. Worrying his chin with tapered fingers he moved a few paces towards her.

"What do you want?"

"I'm bored. And I don't want to be treated like a lab experiment."

"You are the most interesting person I have ever meet," his voice held no taint of irony or patronization.

"I can't be the most interesting person you've ever meet," she mumbled, trying to turn his attention away from her.

"Yes, you are. No one defies me,"

"Then you haven't met a lot of people," she jested, and then sobered at his unyielding visage, "I'm sure your parents didn't do everything you said." As the words slipped out of her mouth she did a quick mental retraction. He had never talked about his family before: maybe there was a reason for that.

"I was raised by a nurse—and she was easily tamed. My parents keep her on since I seemed bright enough and my attachment to her was deep." A scoff of air sounded from behind her.

"Oh," Amara adjusted her weight and turned around to locate the noise. Seeing no one, she put down the pillow she was gripping and turned back, picturing a tiny Dominic running amuck in a nursery, a disheveled nurse chasing him around. A small smile slipped into the corners of her mouth. "I can imagine you as an unruly child."

"I wasn't unruly so much…I just knew what I wanted and didn't stop until I got it." Her face softened further at his description of himself. This was much more interesting than books.

"So you were a brat," she teased with an adamant grin.

"I wasn't a brat," he said with a dropped jaw—as if he couldn't believe she had just said that, "if anything, my sisters were the brats."

"You had sisters too?" Amara head tilted to one side in interest.

"Three of them. All younger. It was me, Fiorella, Perla, and then Bambalina."

"Those are interesting names," Amara said softly, hoping not to offend. But they were and she wondered the origin. They sounded antiquated.

"They're Italian. Fiorella means 'little flower'. Perla means 'little sphere'. And Bambalina means 'little girl'. Which was appropriate: Bambalina was the youngest and the smallest."

"Is Dominic Italian?"

"It's Latin for 'belonging to God'. My mother was very religious."

Amara resisted the extreme impulse to touch the Saint Christopher's medal residing beneath the blue turtleneck she was wearing.

"And your father is a lover of beauty,"

Her attention immediately focused back on him, "What?"

"All of your names—Aurora, Allene, Amara—they all have to deal with beauty," he moved closer to the couch and sat down next to her; as if diverging some great secret, "Aurora means 'beautiful dawn'; Allene is a variant of Helen meaning 'fair or good-looking'; and Amara, " pausing for effect he lowered his voice, "Amara means 'eternal beauty'."

Quietly, her eyes filming over, she asked a question that until now she hadn't been comfortable asking, "How old are you?"

His eyes rolled upwards and studied his brain. Lightly leaving the couch he began to pace along the bookshelf, straining to think. The candlelight illuminated the defined curves of his face; the shadows pooling in the adjoining creases, making him look wholly mystical.

"Five hundred and twenty-five years," continuing to rub his chin his eyes remained strained upwards, "I have existed for five hundred and twenty-five years."

Amara's eyes doubled in size with a quick raise of her eyebrows. "That's incredible," she breathed, "you're living history." A smile dominated her face: the rosy-golden glow of excitement blushing on the apples of her cheeks. Her mind thoroughly buzzed with all the questions popping up in the recesses of gray matter. What she could learn from first hand accounts!

He didn't seem so amazed though. His brow furrowed and his fingers worried his chin until she began to wonder how it kept such a defined shape with so much rubbing. "It's not so incredible," he replied, his eyes moving towards the dark, pristine window, " much time has passed by--more than I realized—but it is all the same. Countries still fight wars, intellects still create controversy, capitalism still triumphs over idealism, people still fall in love," clear grey eyes flicked to hers, "but life goes on. Things change, but nothing changes. I am just stuck. Unable to go forward or backward."

Amara held his gaze, the beautiful tragedy captivating her heart. Nothing existed beyond her thoughts as she mulled over his words. So this is what it was like to sit at the feet of a sage.

"You make life sound so meaningless,"

"Not meaningless, just continuous,"

Eyes glazing over, she sat silently.

"Is this better than talking about books?"

Smiling, she looked up at him through dark eyelashes. "I still love books. But this was definitely more interesting."

"Good," he smiled gently, gazing lovingly at her. Amara turned her head towards the bookcases, trying to think of something to break his stare. Surprisingly, he broke it first. "I must be going: it is almost morning."

Amara's head twisted slowly towards the large windows behind her. The sky was a dismal smear of grey, stained with bloody pink. Her heart instantly weighted and dropped closer to her small intestine. She had only wanted him to stop looking at her: she didn't want their conversation to stop.

"I should probably go too." She mumbled only thinking of her disappointment.

"Then please allow me to escort you up to your room,"

"I didn't…" stopping mid-sentence, she realized what she had just said. But as there was nothing she could do to retract it, she nodded in concession. Besides, she knew from past experience there was nothing she could say, short of being rude, that would prevent him from this chivalrous task. Although, it was probably a value firmly cemented in his character—seeing as he was born over five hundred years ago.  
Rising sluggishly, she led the way out of the room, with him following dutifully behind. As they walked up the stairs, he asked her a question about her family and she answered automatically, her mind on other things.

"Good day," he said as they pulled to a stop in front of the door to her room. Turning around she jumped at how close he was. Her eyes followed the natural chain: chest, chin, nose, eyes. Her eyes locked onto his with a magnetic force. She had not looked him in the eyes since her first night here. The swirls of grey were mesmerizingly clear. Slowly, his visage swelled as it came closer and closer. Amara stayed fixated on his eyes. In her peripherally vision she could see his lips on a direct line towards hers. Suddenly, his face swerved and the connection between their eyes snapped like a taunt cable.

"Be careful. If you get too close you'll fall in," his breath tickled her ear he whispered. He straightened and disappeared into thin air. Amara stared at the air, her heart pounding against her skin. Knees trembling, she fell into her room. Stumbling, she collapsed into a chair and put a hand on her chest to catch her breath. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, with the full potency of a new day. It was giving her a migraine.

"Close those curtains!" She snapped at the winds, tsking in the background. The curtains shattered together, their brass rings screeching. The quickness caused her to grimace, "Thank you." She said exhaustedly, hoping her weary state would count as an apology. The room now substantially dark, she began to rub her temples—what was going on?


	12. Undead

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed so quickly (and positively)! It really made my night! Thank you all very, very much!_

_-bn-_

_**Undead**_

Dominic watched Amara's miniature figure stumble about the room before finally collapsing into a chair. She told the curtains to shut before rubbing her temples. Jerking her head out of her hands, she jumped up and began pacing between the bed and the vanity. Unconsciously she tugged the chain from under her cobalt sweater and began to slide the medal back and forth across the slippery, silver chain.

After a few moments of mumbling to herself she threw the chain from her hands, "This is ridiculous! I can't like him anymore than a friend. He's a captor and a vampire."

Stomping off to the bathroom she slammed the door. A swirling misty fog blurred wafted across the mirror, blurring the scene until it completely disappeared.

Dominic rose quickly from the vanity stool and twisted sharply from the mirror. His mind seething, he glared at his dark chamber, his nose and mouth twisted in fury. Turning violently back he grabbed his mother's crystal vase and with a tensed arm, threw it across the room. The vase shattered against the wall and fell to the floor with a pretty twinkle.

Instantly, Adelaide's voice appeared outside the door.

"Dominic! Signor? Are you all right? Dominic!"

"Leave me alone!" He roared, his voice causing the room to tremble. Adelaide's voice quieted; but he knew she was far from gone. He didn't even have to seek her out with his mind to know she was probably a few feet from the door, waiting for his temper to soothe.

Glowering at the broken shards he slowly approached them. The crystal was dull and slate grey in the lightless room. Bending down he toyed with the shards: picking them up and casting them about like stones. Grasping the largest piece, he lifted it up to eye level and examined it carefully. Slowly, he put the point to his wrist and dragged upwards.

A thin stream of scarlet ran down his arm and dripped menacingly slow onto the wood floor: it was the only indication that he should feel anything. He watched until the blood dried and clotted in his veins.

Standing up, he shook with laughter. What a curse! He could bleed but he could not feel the prick of glass. He could laugh, but never produce tears. He could scoff and banter and smirk but he could never feel the warmth of her hand in his or the softness of her hair when she turned her head away too quickly. He was human physically; and that was it.

Staggering like a drunk, he fell into bed face up, with all his clothes on. He was a fool to think this could work. She was right: she could never love him. Sighing, he flipped over and pressed his face into the dark, silk pillow, knowing it wouldn't kill him.


	13. The Pirate

_**The Pirate**_

"I have something for you to do,"

Amara looked up curiously from her book. Dominic stood at the foot of the couch, hands casually at his sides.

"Okay…" she drawled, lowering the book as she raised herself up: the muscles in her abdomen twanging.

"You don't even want to know what it is?" The corners of his mouth and his eyebrows raised in amused conjunction.

Amara's eyes rolled to one side as she mulled over her lack of sense: that should have been the first question she asked. "Alright, what is it you want me to do?"

His pale lips curved up in a curly-cue, like the Cheshire cat, "That's more like it. But it's nothing exciting: filing a few papers, typing some e-mails, entering in data fields, et cetera."

"It sounds like secretary work," she said suspiciously, slitting her eyes.

"More or less. Follow me," motioning, he started towards the doors. Scrambling off the couch, Amara moved after him. His stride was long and fast and hard to catch on librarian legs. She didn't catch up with him until they reached the kitchens. It was here that she realized where they were going.

"What do you need a secretary for?" she inquired, trying to defer her sinking feeling. Everything from the location to the purpose of this endeavor seemed fishy.

Dominic stopped abruptly, almost causing Amara to run into his back. She managed to catch herself before actually touching him. Though she was unable to move out of the way before he turned around.

"I own a small business,"

Amara shifted on her feet, feeling simultaneously that she should move back and remain where she was. Hugging her arms, she remained stationary, "What kind of a business?"

"I, umm…" Dominic stumbled over his words, stroking his chin with agitation. His eyes studying the ceiling, he finally found the words and slowly articulated, "I procure and sell items of…questionable origins."

Amara's mouth popped open in understanding, "You're a smuggler!"

"I prefer pirate. It sounds a little more debonair,"

Amara laughed, "What do you pirate then?"

"Nothing serious," he smiled, turning slowly around and continued to walk onwards. "Just items illegal in North America." Practically skipping down the hall, he left Amara in a slight stupor.

"And you want me to co-conspire to import illegal items?" She called down the hall after him.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to," he called over his shoulder, proceeding down the hall. Blinking twice at his strangely jubilant behavior, Amara quickly trailed after him.

They walked down the corridor for what seemed like ages before he stopped at an all too familiar dark paneled door. Stretching out his hand, he laid the palm gently against the door,

"Sino ego invado,"

The door swung open with silent ease to reveal a book-lined study. The latest high-tech, computer system sat placidly on an expansive, dark wood desk. Again, the only thing missing was a haze of smoke. For some reason she had expected the room to be different; but maybe it was only her anticipation towards it. Everything seemed to be exactly as it was the last time she had visited.

Dominic came up behind her and shut the door. Amara flinched at the snap and instinctively drew her arms around herself. As if reading her mind, a click and a squeak sounded to indicate the door's opening. The muscles in her arms and abdomen dropped into a resting position.

Breezing by, he rounded the corner of the desk and whisked out the chair. "Please, have a seat,"

Amara tentatively retraced his path and carefully lowered herself into the seat. She sat facing the most elaborate computer system she had ever seen. She hoped she could operate it. It was much newer than the pc's at the library. Leaning over her shoulder, he tapped a few keys on the keyboard, causing solid, black dots to appear in a white bar labeled 'password'. Amara stiffened and listened sheepishly to the clicking. One defined click and the password box collapsed into itself, leaving a black screen in its wake. With a quick flash, the black turned to blue and began to sprout icons along the left hand side.

"Do you know how to use a computer?"

Amara scoffed—there wasn't a kid in this century that couldn't use a computer.

"What do you need done?" She asked haughtily, trapping the mouse under her hand.

"Start with something simple: open up Access1."

Amara double-clicked on the giant, vermillion 'A' and a white box sprang open in the center.

"Open other," he commanded softly, placing one hand next to the mouse so he could lean forward and watch her progress. "Select 'FinanacesOct07'."

Something similar, yet completely alien to a spreadsheet bubbled up to the surface of the screen. Numbers with decimals filled the columns, stopped by labels on the far left. Amara scanned the labels with curiosity: Marcus, teak chairs, Tom, papaya, Ming vases…it was a jumble of names and items.

"This task is very easy—but very tedious. So let me know when you get bored."

"Okay,"

"Take these invoices," he pulled a paper from an arrangement in the mouth of a fax machine, "and look in the top right corner for the name, and the bottom right for the total. Match them up on the spreadsheet and enter the total. For ones without a name, match up the product names on the left side. Can you handle that?"

"Easily," Amara said reassuringly, taking the sheet of paper from his hand and entering in the first field.

"Good," he smiled behind her. Amara put the paper aside and reached for another one, just noticing how high the stack was. "I haven't been working for a few weeks." He said casually, noticing her hesitation at the pile. Amara nodded and continued working.

While she typed, Dominic slunk over to the drawer at the end of the u-shaped desk and plucked out some more papers. Then taking a seat directly across from her (in the same seat Amara had sat in a little over a month ago) he began to read and muse, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chin.

They worked in silence for a while, until the sound of a buzzing cell phone startled her. 'What a strange place,' she thought, continuing to type through the punctuating buzzing, 'magic and technology existing side by side.'

Dominic stood up in a flash and appeared by her side. Blinking her eyes and shaking her head she tried to clear the vision she had just seen: the one in which Dominic had not kinetically moved, but nonetheless, appeared at her side. She must have been staring at the computer screen for too long.

"Excuse me," he said gently pulling out a drawer near her elbow. Shifting her weight, the momentum transferred the chair over so he could reach in and pluck out a reverberating cell phone. He stared at the large glass panel and exhaled through his nose before jabbing at the large, round button in the center.

"This better be important Miranda," he replied gruffly, stepping away from Amara. Amara continued to type, not wanting to be nosy, but at the same time marveling that he had a life outside of the mansion.

"I specifically told Nicholas that I was on vacation for two months—I won't be in until January. What? I…" Though her back faced him, Amara could imagine him pulling his lips together in irritation. The soft scrape of his footfalls carried him towards the window.

"No. No. What?"

Amara kept typing, noting the tension in his vocal chords.

"What?" The tension in his voice snapped, causing Amara to cringe. "What do you mean they backed out? I thought this was an airtight deal!" He paused in frustration allowing the person on the other end to respond. Whatever they said didn't help.

"I leave for barely a month and you manage to…I'm going to need the contract faxed to me along with Maslowe's numbers. I don't care what your reasoning's are Miranda. Get me those numbers **now**!" The force he used to stab at the 'end' button could be heard all the way over by Amara.

"Goddamn him," he swore coming back over to where Amara was still slowly entering numbers. As he approached, she picked up the pace. Throwing the cell phone on the end of the desk, he opened another drawer behind Amara and started to rummage around through it. Finding what he needed, he slammed the drawer shut and moved directly towards the fax machine. Muttering under his breath he flipped through the pages of the document. Amara squirmed in her seat, itchy with curiosity. Finally seeing no harm in it she asked,

"What happened?"

"One of my idiots breached a contract and invalidated it. Half a million dollars, lost because he got greedy." Dominic fumed, throwing the paper in his hands away from him. "It specifically says in article two, 'no bids to outside competitors shall commence after the closure of this contract'. And the idiot went and tried to get a lower price. And not just from anyone: from a firm strongly connected with Maslowe. Idiot!" He raged, no longer really talking to Amara. "This never would have happened if Nicholas were there."

"Who's Nicholas?"

Dominic stopped and looked up out of his agitation. A hint of confusion tinted his eyes. "Nicholas…" he started out slowly, as if she were supposed to remember his name, "is what you might call my protégé. He's incredibly young and intelligent. He's the only one who really understands this business. I plan on passing it over to him, when the time comes." He gazed forlornly at her, his face aging instantly before her eyes. Amara was at a loss for what to say and only gazed back, making sure to avoid his eyes. Their silence was broken by the electronic grunting of the fax machine, which started to spit out a piece of ink spotted paper.

"You may leave, if you're finished," Dominic grabbed the first page and scanned it over. Amara was about six pages from finishing, but she realized the suggestion was more of a command. She exited, wondering what he was going to do that he didn't want her to see.

Amara spent the remainder of the night in the library, trying to read; but her mind kept wandering. He had a whole other life outside of brooding in this dark mansion. He was a businessman and a very busy one at that. She would know, she had seen his invoices: forty just from October! And then the crisis of this evening…no wonder he took a vacation! But he took it for you her mind corrected her.

Amara dug herself deeper into the couch and tried to concentrate on Emma Woodhouse. But when she came to a passage about the sudden arrival of Mr. Frank Churchill she immediately recalled the sudden arrival of Dominic from the chair to right next to her elbow. Had her eyes really been dazed by the computer light or had he really vanished from one spot and appeared in another? She wished she had spent her last months at home studying vampires: perhaps then she would have some knowledge about him.

That last thought sparked a new idea within her. Getting up she moved towards the ladder perched lifelessly against the bookshelf. She remembered Dominic having once said that the upper level of the library contained non-fiction works. But he said it in such a way as to suggest that it was boring or unimportant.

On a mission now, Amara clambered up the ladder and emerged in a darkened room that looked much like a public library. Shelves upon shelves, filled with books, created a winding labyrinth. She took a step towards the first shelf and a burst of light flooded the small space. Snapping her head towards the source in slight panic, she relaxed to see it was just an old lamp, mounted on the wall.

Walking along the first shelf she coughed and sent a spray of dust particles into the air. She watched in strange wonder as the particles danced and twirled in the yellowed light, finally settling back on the books. Smiling, she continued down along the shelves scanning the various titles. The first row was a bunch of language books, then some books on gardening. The next row was just as uninteresting with books on business and trade. Continuing on she grew more and more disappointed. There was nothing here that could help: they were all instruction books or books on famous people. Discouraged she progressed to the last row out of continuity.

Her eyes immediately stopped on the titles: _Alica Libri, Veneficus Alica, Lamia Notitia_... it was all in Latin! Or so she deduced. Libri was Latin for Book, so the rest was probably in Latin as well. What did it all mean though?

Picking a book out of its cozy niche she ruffled through the pages looking at the strange words illuminated with strong, inky borders. _Illa lacuna quod planto lemma verus_. She really wished she had taken a course in Latin rather than French. Scrunching her brow she tried hard to pick out the few words she did know. All it got her was a hodge-podge of meaningless words.

"Ut fata EGO dico, audite quod adveho," she stumbled over the words softly, pressing and dragging her fingers across the wrinkly parchment.

"What are you doing?"

Amara's head instantly snapped upwards. Dominic was just to the right of her, barely two feet away. His dark curls had been pulled away from his face and his mouth compressed. Amara started, not sure how to answer. He had never specifically told her not to come up here; but his demeanor was suggesting otherwise.

"I was…"

"I came to tell you that I will be leaving for a few days," he interrupted reaching over and taking the book from her hands.

"Oh," readily yielding the book, Amara took a step back and crossed her arms. "You're leaving?"

"Just for a few days. I have to go straighten out this mess," he mumbled, flipping through the dusty pages with ease.

"So I'll be here…by myself?" She asked quietly, testing the waters. The concept was both appealing and unexciting. She would be here by herself; but she would be here _by herself_.

"Adelaide and Evangeline and the rest of the servants will be here," his eyes flicked up for a minute before returning to the page.

"Oh,"

A moment of silence ensued before he suddenly asked, "Can you read Latin?"

"No," she started out of her habitual stance, "why? Is that what that's written in?"

"Yes," snapping the book shut, he replaced it on the shelf, "most of the Dominican and Franciscan prayer books are."

"Prayer books? They're just prayer books?" She asked with certain disbelief.

Shaking his head, he smiled, "I told you the books up here weren't as interesting. Mostly collectors editions and how-tos."

"Oh,"

He smiled gently and looked over her head towards the balcony railing, "I have to be going. Be good. Stay out of trouble." He said affectionately, cupping her chin in his fingers and kissing her forehead. Amara surprised herself by not flinching at the touch of his chilled lips against her warm skin.

"I'm not five," she told him cheekily, pushing his hand away.

"I know," he laughed, "and yet—I feel the need to caution you. Just in case you were to get any crazy ideas."

Amara smiled despite the obvious warning, "When will you be back?"

"Tuesday. In four days."

"Well, good-bye,"

"Good-bye,"

Without another word he walked towards the railing and disappeared. So her eyes hadn't been playing tricks on her! He really could vanish at will! Well that was one mystery solved. But she was still curious as to why he would lie about the books. They weren't prayer books. Not unless 'veneficus' no longer meant 'witch'.

1 Access is a product of Microsoft. In no way do I, the author, own it or attempt to presume that I own it.


	14. Maybe

_**Maybe**_

Amara was teaching herself Latin. It was hard at some points because Dominic only had two resources: a basic workbook and a Latin-to-Italian dictionary. The workbook seemed part of a set of language books and only there because Dominic had to have the complete set no matter how superfluous. (She suspected he was one of those people who put whole albums on his Ipod, even though he only liked two songs. Assuming vampires had Ipods.) As for the dictionary, that required locating the Italian-to-English dictionary and working her way down. Still it was helping; she had deciphered several pages of the one book Dominic had caught her looking at. And it definitely wasn't a prayer book: it was a spell book, with incantations on obedience, mastery, and divination. Amara was faintly disturbed, recalling _1984_. What on Earth would he need spell books for? She hoped they were a collector's item.

0-0-0-0-0

True to his word, Dominic came back on Tuesday. And left again on Friday. Now that his staff had seen him in the office, they immediately assumed he was on call again. As much as this vexed him, he was sure Amara was glad for the break. He thoroughly enjoyed her company, but realized her feelings towards people were the same as books: she loved them as long as they were not _overused_. He respected this, even though it made his mind anxious and his face tight like stone.

And though she got into no visible trouble, Dominic was uneasy about leaving her alone. Mostly because he knew she was searching through the books on the second level of the library. She said she couldn't read Latin, but that didn't mean anything—she was clever enough to figure something out. Still, hiding the books was a direct invitation for suspicion, and telling the full truth would only push her further from him. For now, he felt it best to play dumb and leave the books alone.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help but dote on her. The first time he came back he brought her a copy of the newly released _Anna: Evaluating Tolstoy's Christ Figures_. How happy was he that he could buy a present so clearly meant for her and yet, just as applicable to him? Upon reading the title she had laughed and insisted they take turns reading it out loud. They hadn't even gotten three pages into the preface before they started arguing.

"Tolstoy doesn't seem like an anarchist,"

Quickly glancing to the bottom of the page, Dominic memorized the page number before gently closing it over a finger, "What do you mean? _Anna Karenina_ is about social restrictions."

"Anna and Kitty's problems stem from social restrictions," Amara said heatedly, sitting up from her slumped over position in the arm chair, "but Levin was modeled after Tolstoy himself and he's only concerned with the evils and follies of capitalism rather than society."

"No," said Dominic straightening his spine, "you're thinking of Nikolai Dmitrich Levin. He was a socialist."

"Yes, but Konstantin Dmitrich Levin never had any problems with society: he stuck to his farming and advocated hard work. Doesn't that seem very socialist to you?"

"Why is hard work automatically coupled with socialism? It seems more parable or bible-like than anything. Besides, capitalism is hardly the opposite of hard work."

"Of course you would say that, you're a businessman."

Dominic laughed, "Touché,"

Smiling a little more gently she added, "It just doesn't seem like Tolstoy was an anarchist because he never promoted the break-down of society only its obvious ridiculousness."

"But perhaps," speaking softly, he leaned forward to close the gap between them, "Tolstoy was only being subtle. It's dangerous, even for a nobleman, to decry society. Or maybe he was fearful of being hypocritical."

She smiled, "Maybe,"

_ 0-0-0-0-0  
_

Amara woke with a gasp. Off in the distance thunder snarled. Shivering, she rolled out of bed and made towards the window. Pulling back the heavy drapes she revealed a ghastly grey day. The sky was the color of an old bruise: dark purple ringed with a greenish tint. Lightening skirted across the garden, and thunder crashed dramatically as she jumped back, letting the curtains dash together.

Normally she wasn't so jumpy during thunderstorms: that was Aurora's job. But last night's dream had set her on edge. She couldn't remember exactly what it was about, but it was filled with blood and darkness. Crawling back to bed, she planned to pull the covers back over her head and go to sleep. After all, Dominic was still away on his latest business endeavor, so there was no reason to get up.

She lay there for about an hour before finally realizing there was no way she was going back to sleep. Getting up, she got dressed and decided to head downstairs for something to eat. Contacts firmly in place, she headed back towards the window for one last look. The sky was still dark and oozing lightening. A strong gust ripped through the garden sending up sprays of leaves and other garden refuse. Heart heavy, she looked towards her favorite tree to see how it was faring, and nearly swallowed her tongue. Standing directly below it, her luminescent arm delicately wrapped around the trunk was Luczia. A wicked grin spread across her face as she caught Amara's eyes. Stretching out one arm she coquettishly curled and uncurled her index finger signaling for her to come down.

Letting the curtains fall, Amara realized just how fast she was breathing. Swallowing, she tried hurriedly to make a decision. She really didn't want to go into the blustery garden to converse with Luczia: she'd had plenty of that last time. Yet, there seemed to be a compelling force (stronger than curiosity) pulling her towards the enchanting woman. Squeezing her teeth together she strode towards the stairs.

The whole time she clomped down the stairs she kept shaking her head: she couldn't believe she was doing this. It was hardly practical! Out in the garden she poked her head around, looking for both Luczia and rain. Starting to blow harder, the wind knocked her hair into her face, temporarily blinding her. Staggering, she headed in the general direction of the pomegranate tree.

"Amara…"

Amara's stomach tried to jump out her throat. Sharply turning to escape, she came within inches of Luczia's nose.

"Good morning dear," the fairy cajoled, as a prophetic roar of thunder sounded behind her.

"Hello," Amara replied distantly, taking a careful step backwards.

"Did you have a pleasant sleep?"

"Yes," she said, trying to discreetly edge away. There was something in the fairy's glinting smile that looked strangely sharp.

"Oh good. I was afraid my little storm might wake you," another bolt of lightening flashed across the sky.

Amara swallowed, "You made this happen?"

"Of course," the fairy said proudly starting her customary circle around Amara, "What's the point of having power if you don't use it?"

"Why are you here?" Amara asked heatedly, wishing for the fairy to get to the point without all her sickly sweet banter.

"Well, well," she admonished coming to a stop at Amara's left, "aren't we tetchy. What's wrong princess? Upset that your prince has left you all alone in this big place. Abandoned you to your own will?" The thunder snapped across the sky

"Excuse me?" Amara asked snottily, pulling back from Luczia.

"But it's alright, because now the girls can have a little fun,"

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't there questions you're dying to ask," the fairy sweetly inveigled, starting up her circle again, "but too afraid to ask them?" Amara grew still and quite. There were several things she would love to ask; but she didn't exactly trust Luczia's motive—whatever that was.

At last she pulled out of her thoughts, "No."

"Oh come now! There has to be something about Dominic you're dying to know. But asking him would be just too awkward."

"No."

"Really!" Squeaked Luczia snapping her fists to her hips, "You've never found strange articles or a suspicious book?"

She hit a nerve. Amara turned her head softly to look at Luczia. Her green eyes looked black in the storm. Did she dare?

"There is this one book,"

"Yes?"

"Called _Alicia Libri_,"

"Yes,"

"He said it was a prayer book but…"

Luczia threw her head back to the sky and let out a cackle of laughter. "Oh my darling girl! How naïve you are! But how perfectly right you are. Come with me." Stretching out her hand, Luczia beckoned Amara closer. A magnetic force began to draw Amara's hand forward.

"Wait!" Severing the tugging force Amara pulled back her hand definitively. Luczia in turn recoiled as if stung by a hornet.

"What dear?" She asked sharply, the smooth edges of her face suddenly becoming jagged and raw.

"I have to go," turning quickly Amara started for the house, her stride long and fast.

"No!"

A gust of wind lashed against Amara's torso pushing her back towards Luczia. Leaves, petals, and blades of grass were kicked up in the sudden onslaught and started to swirl in a maelstrom around her. Thunder roared right next to her ear and lightning landed within inches of her feet.

"No!" Luczia screamed again appearing in the eye of the storm to grab Amara's arm, "You can't love him! You don't deserve him! No one but **me** is supposed to love him! That's why he's a vampire!"

Amara, too scared to even speak, began to twist and writhe in the fairy's grip. But it was to no avail—the magical being was stronger than she was. Dragging her by the arm, the fairy roughly escorted Amara towards the gate leading to the forest.

"Stop squirming! Or I'll make you into a toad!"

"Stop it! Let me go!"

"Only one of us can love him; and I'll give you one guess as to who its not."

"Why does it matter so much?"

Luczia stopped in her tracks and gazed severely at Amara, "I'm the only one he's supposed to love. That's why he's a vampire: so no one else can love him."

Despite the severity of the situation, the only thing Amara could think of was the teen readers who practically worshipped vampirism. Any one of those girls would gladly lay down her life (and blood) for Dominic or any old vampire as long as he was dark and mysterious.

"Are you the one who made Dominic a vampire?"

Luczia laughed, "My you're...agh!" Shrieking she released Amara's arm to swat at an invisible force around her head. Not questioning Amara turned and ran as fast she could through the storm and into the house. She could hear Luczia screaming all the way into the house.

Slamming the door shut, Amara turned and pressed her back to it heaving. Just as her breath was about caught, a loud, abrasive knocking sounded from behind the door. Jumping back in fear, one of the breezes sped by Amara and opened the door. Panicked, she rushed to close it but was beaten by the breeze. Securely inside with the door closed, Amara ventured a question aloud,

"What happened?"

One of the breezes curled softly through her hair. She recognized it as Adelaide, despite its low energy. Another one of the breezes wrapped itself around her middle and Amara suddenly made the connection.

"You saved me!" She whispered suddenly turning towards Adelaide—or where she thought Adelaide was. In reply the breeze draped itself around her shoulders in an airy hug.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning her head on the airy presence.


	15. The Truth

Title

_I would just like to warn the readers that there is one instance of strong language used in this chapter. If you are highly offended I apologize but wish it to be known that it was for artistic purposes to display the depth and anger of the character; and not just because I felt like it. _

_Thank you. -bn_

_**The Truth**_

The next few nights were the scariest Amara had ever lived through. Luczia's storms pounded against the mansion shaking its sturdy frame and blowing small trees (which were really branches) into the windows. And her dreams only worsened. These ones were so real Amara ended up clawing herself in her sleep in order to get away. By the time the third day rolled around she resolved to stop sleeping in order to avoid Luczia's nightmares.

Adelaide and Evangeline tried their best to soothe her with warm beverages and airy hugs, but it just wasn't enough when she woke up with arms bloodied and scraped from trying to escape. She sincerely wished for Dominic to return from business and make it all go away. But even more than his surefire ability to dispel Luczia, she wished for her family. A gnawing hunger in her stomach called for Aurora's hugs and Allene's teas. It called loudest though for her father. For his logical rationalizations and tender hugs. For his woody scent and light humor. Realizing the hopelessness involved in ever seeing her family only made her more upset: to the point where she wasn't sure whether her tears were for her family or Luczia.

Since she could no longer sleep Amara took her only comfort from reading. Moving a pillow and a blanket down to the library she camped out there for four days leaving only to quickly use the restroom. She didn't even eat anymore, despite Adelaide's feeble attempts at various soups and puddings.

On the sixth night as she sat up reading _The Great Gatsby_ a creaking of the library door threw her into a frenzy. Even Adelaide and Evangeline who had been sitting vigilantly near the fireplace rose up in a whirlwind of panic. Heart pounding out of her chest, she accidentally dropped her book in order to sit up and look towards the door.

It seemed an eternity before the door finally opened wide enough to reveal Dominic.

"Oh my God." She blurted out with all her stored up breath before collapsing into the couch.

"Amara!" he was by her side instantaneously shaking her shoulders softly. Exhausted she looked up at him through crying eyes before throwing herself into a hug. If he hadn't been a vampire she would have been afraid of squeezing too tightly; but as it was she had never been happier to see anyone: including the only thing keeping her from her family.

He hugged back and even ventured stroking her hair before pulling reluctantly back, "Amara, what happened?"

Amara pulled back as well and tried to wipe the tears away from her face: she didn't particularly like crying in front of people. And besides, her attempt at rehabilitation gave Adelaide and Evangeline a chance to whirl gratefully around their master. Presently though he held up a hand and said curtly, "I cannot understand a word either of you are saying. Amara, what happened?"

Amara took a shaky breath, "I'm sorry, I'm just…I've never had to deal with this before! I didn't know what to do!" The tears caught in her throat and choked her. Dominic instantly reached up to cradle her shoulders until she had regained breath.

"Amara…" He said pityingly stroking away a piece of greasy, unwashed hair from her face.

"I must look disgusting," she thought, fighting for control of her breath, "unwashed and crying incessantly."

" It started with a nightmare," she started, looking down at her hands, "and when I woke up it was storming. And then she was out there in the garden and told me to come down and I know I shouldn't have but there was just something that was pulling me and then I went out there and…"

"Who is she?" He interrupted her fast-paced monologue tersely.

"Luczia," Amara said taken aback. Who else could she mean?

Something in Dominic's tense face changed. The lines of anger fell into themselves to create dark abysses and his grey eyes became sharp edges of steel capable of cutting diamonds. "She did what?!"

Almost afraid to answer, Amara continued warily, "I went out to the garden and she asked me if I had any questions about you…"

"Son of a…" Cutting himself off he jumped up and stomped around looking like he would punch a wall if it were close enough. "What else did she say?" He suddenly whirled on Amara.

"No-Nothing," she stammered, "she tried to take me into the forest and Adelaide appeared out of nowhere and made her let go of me."

Her answer seemed to soothe his temper, for a little bit. "Are you alright?" He asked, his eyes softening at her image.

"I guess," she replied tearfully, remembering her pain.

Bending down to her level he looked directly at her downcast head. She tried her best to avoid his gaze: she wanted her father, not him.

"When is the last time you slept?"

Amara shrugged. Adelaide whispered around Dominic's head.

"Six days! Amara!"

"I was scared!" She retorted snapping her head up, "the nightmares were so real I started hurting myself in my sleep to get away. I was going crazy! I couldn't tell the difference between reality and dreamscape."

"Amara…" He reached out to touch her.

"No!" Spring out of his grasp, Amara stood up and loomed over him, "I want my father. Please! Let me see him. Take me to him."

"I can't," He replied standing up so that he held dominance over her.

"Yes you can! You made the rules to this game you can break them."

"No Amara,"

"Why not?"

Dominic stared at her; the lines in his face erasing so that he was once more, completely stone-faced. Choking on her tears Amara turned and started to leave.

"Amara wait,"

Ignoring him, she drifted slowly out of the room and up the stairs.

0-0-0-0-0

Amara took a shower before climbing into bed. But even the feeling of soft, clean hair wouldn't allow her to sleep. All she could think about was her family and how unfair it was that she was separated from them. At least the storms had stopped.

She couldn't have been in bed for too long though before an all-too-familiar rapping sounded at her door. With no strength left except to brood she stared straight ahead and watched in her peripheral vision as he entered.

"Amara," he said gently, coming to her side, "Amara please listen to me."

Something was wrong with his voice. It sounded cracked somehow. As if the formerly strong voice had been broken and carefully placed back together with glue so no one would know. Fresh tears peaked through her eyes.

"Amara, I've tried so hard to protect you from me that I can't bear to lose you."

Amara turned to look at him, "Protect me?"

Dominic sighed and it seemed as if he let out his life force along with his breath. His face turned greyer and his eyes lost their sharpness. "I am more than you think I am." He paused, as if unsure of whether to go on or not. Amara tried to encourage him by looking caringly puzzled. "Those books you found in the upper level of the library aren't prayer books—they're spell books."

"Why would you need spell books?" She croaked, her hands busy rearranging the covers.

"They were my mother's. And her father's before her and his father's before him. They have been passed down through the generations to whichever offspring shows the greatest magical ability."

"You're a wizard?"

"Yes,"

"Why couldn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to push you farther from me,"

Amara laughed, but in her tired state it came out as more of a croak, "I've seen too many weird things here to be frightened away by something as small as that."

Dominic smiled brightly—his face regaining what little color it could—and reached over to take her hand. Amara gave a watery smile back. Their eyes gazed forlornly at one another; each searching for what the other was feeling. It was Dominic who finally stopped the search,

"We better get you something to eat. You look malnourished."

Grinning, she replied sheepishly, "It's only been a few days. I'm fine,"

"I should never have left for so long," he said softly, helping her stumble out of the bed.

"I shouldn't have stayed up for so long,"

"First food and then you can sleep as long as you like. I can't believe Luczia was fool enough to come that close to you."

0-0-0-0-0

Dominic paced around in his study, knocking into things in his hurry of thought. He was so distracted at one point that he almost knocked into the bronzed goblet sitting placidly on his desk. Realizing his mistake, he grabbed the goblet and took a quick sip of the blood. Even though he had conditioned himself to the point where he only needed a goblet of blood a week to sustain him, it wouldn't do to forego one more day without it. He hadn't drunk any blood while at work in the city: the thought of attacking the innocent filled him with such a sense of dishonor. Instead he tried to take blood only from the wretched (but still, who was he to judge?) or buy blood from the blood banks. But even that was becoming harder and harder: no one was donating blood anymore.

Sighing, he set down the goblet and continued pacing. How dare Luczia come into his garden and try to lure his bride to her imminent death? Did he not make it perfectly clear to her last time that if he ever saw her again he would turn her into stone? Of course it was clear, that's why she showed up while he was in New York City for nine days. Turning sharply he rammed his fist into the marble fireplace and cracked it. Not even flinching, he continued storming around his office. Only the sudden creak of the office door stopped his silent tirade. Throwing his eyes to the door he saw Amara standing there, her hair wild and wavy and her tee shirt cocked to one side. There was something off in the seductive smile she cast upon him.

"Amara?" He queried, stepping towards her, "What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing darling," she sighed passionately, stepping into the office with long, cat-like strides, "I was just lonely."

Stepping towards him, she reached up and entwined her arms around his neck. Looking up at him with glittering green eyes fringed with long black lashes, she smiled sweetly. Confused, he stared back, trying to see past the gleaming eyes. But before he could pierce their depths she stretched out her neck and legs and kissed him. Unprepared for so frontal an attack, he pushed her off of him. His desire to remove her was so strong that, she stumbled into the adjacent bookcase and almost fell. Dominic flinched. While in theory it was Luczia he was pushing away, it would be Amara who woke up with the bruises.

"Darling!" The girl screeched, brushing herself off and looking up at him with a twisted scowl, "I thought you'd be happy to see me!"

"You thought I'd be glad to see you?! I cannot believe you have the audacity to come here! I should turn you to stone this instant and put you in my garden for all eternity!"

"Go ahead! I dare you to!" She screamed, her fists clenching at her sides, "You know I was the only one who could ever match your power! I even bested you in Italy. In your own home!"

"Every single time I find someone new you're two steps behind waiting to ruin it! Well not this time Luczia; because I actually love Amara. And you knew that. That's why you tried to kidnap her." Dominic was no longer yelling—he didn't have to—the acidity in his voice was enough.

Luczia started to cry. Great, fat tears rolled down her face and neck. She looked straight at him, but began to make a disgusting choking sound.

"Why won't you love me?"

Dominic turned his face away and looked out at the moon.

"Dominic!" She wailed coming closer and trying to touch him, "Dominic, look at me! Look at me!" Reluctantly he turned his head and found Luczia standing before him. Amara's body was limp in a chair.

"I was the only one who could match your power! The only one who could keep up with you! Do you honestly think this little mortal can make you happy? Do you really think she can handle the strains and pressures are on two such powerful beings as us? Do you?!"

"She has so far hasn't she?" He quipped sharply, keeping his eyes deadlocked on Luczia, "She wasn't fooled by your attempt to lure her into the woods. Even I can't fool her: she found my spell books and started translating them within a week."

"But she's mortal! She'll be dead in a few decades."

"Shut up! She's going to break the curse, I know she is."

"Don't you get it? No one can break the curse! That's why I made you a vampire! So no one but me could possibly love you!" Puffed up now, Luczia had stopped her crying and focused all the energy of her green eyes on Dominic.

Dominic started at her last statement, "I thought it was a lesson from the Witch's Council to teach my family that power comes at a horrific price."

"It was that! And to keep you from marrying Varanese."

Dominic felt his entire body go cold. His mind stopped as did his breathing and he didn't move for so long that Luczia even ventured a timid step forward.

"Get the fuck out of my house. If I ever see you again or hear that you've so much as looked at Amara, I swear to God and all his angels that I will kill you."

To his surprise Luczia didn't argue or plead with him, she just slowly turned and wafted towards the door with her head bowed. Once sure that she was actually at the door, he strode gently towards Amara's body and stroked away the tousled hair from her face.

"Dominic?" Luczia's voice was so soft and broken that he couldn't help but look up, despite his threat.

She was standing in the doorway, supported by the frame, watching him and Amara with bleary eyes. "Was there ever a time where you loved me?"

He sighed, "I could have loved you Luczia, had our circumstances been different."

"That's all I needed to know," she whispered, turning out of the door with a last flicker of red hair.

Dominic watched her go, holding his breathe the entire time. His mind was heavy with despair and sadness. But no matter weighted his mind was, his body refused to manifest his thoughts. Oh God how he wanted to cry. To lay his head down and let the tears run down his face and neck. To let their salty healing stain his visage and shirt. But he couldn't. His form wouldn't let him.

Feeling nothing but his tangible organs, Dominic bent tenderly and scooped Amara up in his arms. Carefully leaving his office, he carried her all the way up to her room, where he spent the remainder of the daylight, watching over her while she slept.


	16. Magic

**Magic **

Amara woke up the next morning stiff. The whole right side of her body felt tight and twisted. Still the ache wasn't great enough to keep her in bed. Sitting up carefully she rolled to the side to look out her window: night. A half a day had passed since Dominic had come back and saved her. It seemed like such a long time ago.

Rising out of bed she found everything to be in order. A light breakfast was on it's usual tray by the window; her clothes were all clean and folded neatly in the closet; and even the book she had been reading was sitting placidly on the nightstand. It was as if the previous wretched nights had never happened. Strangely she was disconcerted with this idea.

Washing her face and throwing on some clothes she headed downstairs to find Dominic. She expected to find him in the library waiting for her, a book in hand, but he wasn't there. Disconcerted she moved on to the dining room. He wasn't there either. Moving down the hallway she tried each and every door until at last she had passed the kitchens and there could only be one option left.

The door to his study was ajar and a single ray of yellowy light fell into the hallway highlighting the rich burgundy and gold of the carpet. At last she had found him! Taking a deep breath she knocked lightly and entered.

He was sitting behind his desk sifting through some papers. His head was bent parallel to the desk so that his loose dark locks covered his face but he immediately looked up as she stepped within the bounds of his office. He smiled gently at her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." She replied hugging her arms around herself.

"Good. You've been asleep for thirty-six hours, I was starting to worry."

Amara started, "Thirty-six hours? Are you sure? It didn't feel that long."

Laughing, Dominic stood up and came around the desk to stand in front of her, "I'm quite sure. But it was probably for the best: you were exhausted."

Amara shook her head, "It wasn't the best week."

"I'm sorry." He said gazing directly at her. "I promise it will never happen again."

"Which part?"

Smiling at her sauciness he leaned forward and catching her chin with his fingers tipped it upwards to kiss her forehead. "All of it."

"Good." She said, smiling back.

"Well in that case would you to like to eat? You must be famished."

Amara nodded as Dominic slipped his hand into hers and led her towards the dining room.

0-0-0-0-0

During dinner Dominic talked about the most banal of things. He talked about work and deals that had gone well or gone wrong. He talked about a rare edition of _Crime and Punishment_ he had almost bought. He even talked about how the next time he went back he was going to buy new software to update his computer systems at work.

Amara listened politely, chewing her food slowly. The feelings of disconcert back. This time she took it for what it was worth: his obvious attempt to avoid talking about everything that had been revealed. A few days ago he had almost cracked his smooth faced veneer confessing his wizardry and Lucia had confessed that she had made him a vampire and yet that seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

So she let him talk, answering with what was appropriate until it seemed at last that he couldn't keep up the stream of conversation. As he slowed down to take a drink of his wine Amara went in for the attack.

"So you're a wizard?"

Dominic finished his drink and grinning shook his head. "I should've known you wouldn't let that go for long."

"Not something as interesting as that." She replied running a finger along the rim of her glass.

Laughing, he leaned back in his chair, his hands carelessly resting against the back of his head. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but there's nothing really interesting about it. I'm a wizard and that's it."

Amara rolled her eyes. "That's not it. What can you do? Was your whole family magic? Do you still do magic? I mean besides that little disappearing trick."

"Disappearing trick?"

"You know, where you're one place one minute and then suddenly you're somewhere else."

"You've seen that?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," he mused rubbing his chin, "I'm getting sloppy. I didn't intend for you to see that."

"So is that the only magic you use?"

"No."

"Well what else?" She asked, leaning forward in exasperation.

He only laughed at her. "Why are you so curious about it? It's nothing very interesting."

"That's what you said about the forest too and look how interesting that turned out to be!" She reminded him straightening back up in her chair.

"Fine come here."

"What?"

"Come here." He beckoned, leaning forward in his chair and grinning at her.

"Why?" She asked shrinking back in her chair until the cushy back pushed her slightly forward.

"Just come here." His grin widened as he stretched out a hand. Exhaling Amara reached over and placed her hand in his. Forcing her up and out of her chair he brought her over to him so that she was standing in front of him while he was sitting. Without saying a word, or letting go of her hand, he picked up a dessertspoon and laid it softly in her hand. Then taking her other hand he placed it over the top of the spoon and her other hand so that she was effectively cupping the spoon between both hands. He then placed both his hands atop hers cupping her hands between his. She squirmed, unused to his cold fingers applying so much pressure to hers.

"Pick an object."

"An object?" She twisted her hands around in his. He compressed her hands more firmly until she was forced to stop moving.

"Yes. Something small. Like a button or a compact mirror."

"What about a flower?"

"All right."

She heard him smirk and then suddenly her hands grew very warm. She gasped and tried to pull away; they felt like they were on fire!

"It's all right. It's just magic." He teased holding her hands tighter.

Just as quickly as her hands had heated up they just as quickly cooled. Dominic peeled his hands away and let Amara's fall away. She gasped to see in the middle of her palm a canary yellow rosebud where the dessertspoon had previously been. Gingerly picking up the prickly stem she held it up to her eyes for a closer look. It certainly looked like a rose. She put it to her nose: it definitely smelled like a rose.

"There's some magic for you." He said flicking his gaze up to her face, "I hope you're still not sick of roses."

"No," she said smiling at the beautiful bud, "I'm getting used to them again."


	17. New York City

_I know it's been quite a long time since this story was last updated and I apologize for the long delay. Thank you to everyone who sent in reader comments asking for me to continue this story-it really helped give me a push to continue. Because it has been so long the writing style may seem different and I would love any comments or critiques on this chapter. I hope you enjoy it! _

_Thanks, _

_bn_

**New York City**

"What are you doing in the next few weeks?"

Amara burst out laughing. She couldn't help it: he had asked so graciously, as if she were a normal girl with a life and schedule outside of the mansion.

"I don't know. What am I doing the next few weeks?" She countered placing a finger into the spine of _Lolita_ to prevent the loss of her page.

He had his hands in his pocket looking casually down at her, as if he were simply talking about the weather. "How would you like to accompany me to New York City on a business trip?"

Amara nearly dropped her book in her hurry to sit up. Go with him? To New York City? Of course! She had been in the mansion for over 7 months now without so much as leaving the grounds. She was more than ready to leave—even if just for a little bit.

"Yes!" She shouted and then realizing her over enthusiasm toned it down. "I mean I would love to go."

"It would be for three weeks: this Saturday to Saturday the twenty-fifth. We'll be staying at The Plaza in Manhattan. You can run around the city all day if you wish. I only ask that you come back at night. But even then I promise you'll be kept entertained."

Amara laughed, "You don't have to convince me. I think it sounds wonderful!"

"Good." He smiled, taking his hands out of his pockets. "I'll tell Adelaide and Evangeline to start packing your bags. We'll leave Saturday."

"Oh it's all right, I'll pack myself." She said rising up from the library couch she had been lounging on. "After all that's half the fun!"

He smiled widened, "All right but I suspect they'll be meddlesome without some task."

"I'll let them help, but I don't want to end up with three weeks worth of evening gowns."

Dominic let out a deep laugh, "I thought those gowns looked beautiful on you."

Wrinkling her nose she reached for the bookmark on the side table. "They were so cumbersome and unnecessary."

"A lot of beautiful things are."

"There can be beauty in practicality too." She said slipping the bookmark into _Lolita_'s spine.

"There can be beauty in impracticality."

Amara sighed, "You're too whimsical for a businessman."

Dominic chuckled, "But it's my eye for beauty that distinguishes me from other businessmen. I buy and sell beautiful things when everyone else is preoccupied with practicality. It gives me an upper edge. Everyone loves beauty."

"I'm sure not everyone."

"Fine," he conceded leaning in closer, "maybe not everyone. Just the people who buy from me."

"That sounds better."

"You better go pack. Before Adelaide and Evangeline find out." He said softly moving in so that the space in between them was barely a hands width.

"Why? Are you going to tell on me?" She teased not moving back from his advance.

"Well that depends." He replied inching his face even closer.

"On what?" She asked clutching her book to her chest.

"On whether or not you keep arguing with me."

"Well then," she said suddenly stretching out on her toes and kissing his cheek, "I better get going." Without another word she maneuvered around him and left the library.

0-0-0-0-0

Amara was worried. She was afraid Dominic would interpret the kiss as something other than what she had meant. Actually she wasn't quite sure what she had meant but she hadn't meant anything romantic. It was just something that had happened. Like character development in a Tolstoy story. He had been leaning so close and she was so close and she was just so animated about the idea of New York City and it just happened.

In the days preceding their trip she was careful to avoid giving Dominic any unnecessary attention. Fortunately her worries turned out to be just that: worries. Dominic didn't flatter her or touch her anymore than usual. In fact he seemed completely oblivious to what had happened. It was similar to how he had behaved after Lucia had attacked a month ago.

By the time they were ready to leave for New York City Amara had pushed her fears to the back of her mind and let all of her excitement rush to the front. She was leaving the mansion! And not only that but she was going to get to wander around _all by herself_. She was actually a bit surprised he was going to let her off in the city alone; but at the same time she wasn't going to question his decision. She was too busy planning out her days and relishing the feeling of almost freedom.

0-0-0-0-0

"Are you ready to go?"

Amara looked down at her luggage. Clothes, toothbrush, books, shoes, and glasses: she should have it all.

"I'm ready." She assured him with a beam.

"All right. I'm going to need you to hold onto my arm and keep a tight grip."

Amara looped her arm through his and held on as tightly as she could. The hallway around them turned to black as all the air was sucked out of the space they inhabited. Squeezing her eyes tightly against the darkness she recalled the night she had first met Dominic.

A few seconds dragged by in the void before she felt her feet sinking into plush carpet. Carefully peeling her eyes open she had to touch a hand to her mouth to keep from grasping.

The room they were standing in was furnished in an Edwardian style and relinquished none of the grandeur. Right in front of her two high backed cream couches squarely faced one another across a marbled topped table. Current copies of the New York Times and The Wall Street Journal were neatly stacked on top of one another. A vase of dark pink cabbage roses stood still in a crystal vase that sparkled against the soft interior lights. Behind her was what appeared to be the entrance into the hotel. To her right were sets of double French doors that lead to something beyond. Amara glanced around, amazed at the lightness of the area. She was so used to the heavy décor of the mansion that the sheerness of the room was making her feel lightheaded.

"Will you be all right for a moment?"

Nodding her head Amara drifted away towards the window. Pulling back the gauzy white curtains she peeked out and gasped. A bright strip of dark liquid pulsated with red and yellow lights below, humming with sibilance against a cacophony of other sounds. Touching her fingers lightly to the miniature world below she began to fog up the glass as she gazed.

"It's an exquisite view isn't it?"

Amara whipped around to find Dominic standing just where she had left him; but now their luggage was at his feet.

"Yes it's beautiful."

"It's 5th Avenue," he said stepping towards the window, "and you can see south Central Park if you look to your right." Approaching closer he softly pointed to the right in indication of the famous park. Amara felt goose bumps prickle up and down her arms.

"It's all so…" She trailed off unable to think of an adjective appropriate enough for what she was trying to describe. Wonderful? Exciting? Energetic?

"Would you like to go out?"

"Into the city? Of course!" She said, instantly losing her awe in favor of curiosity. "Let's go!"

Bouncing towards the door she was acutely aware of Dominic following patiently behind. Before she had made it the sixteen steps to the door he had passed her though and was gallantly opening the door.

Smiling she walked out into the carpeted hallway and was once more stunned by the grandeur of the building. The carpet was a plush cream embroidered with gold curlicues and swirls. Thick-stripped gold wallpaper acted as a backdrop for gilded frames containing exceptional copies of Renoir masterpieces.

"This way." Gliding out of the room he shut the door and started walking to the right. Amara had to give a little skip to catch up to his long vampire stride on her short legs. Sensing her lagging behind he slowed his pace until she caught up.

"What would you like to do?" He asked, turning his head to give a small smile.

"I don't know." she shrugged coming alongside him, "I've never been to New York before."

"Well…" he mused stroking his chin as they approached the elevator. "We could go to dinner, go see a movie, sightsee; we might be able to catch a play if we hurry. Or…" He stood completely still in front of the elevator.

"Or?" She asked peering at his marbled face.

"I have something you might like."

"What is it?"

"Don't worry you'll see." He said leaning forward to push the down arrow.

"No really what is it?"

"You'll see." He grinned, watching the glass panel above the doors to see when the elevator would be there.

"What?" The pitch of her voice rose, as she couldn't help grinning at his playful manner.

"Trust me." He said as the doors came to the top with a dinging bell and smoothly slid apart.

0-0-0-0-0

"That was amazing!" Amara laughed nearly crumpling her program in excitement as she jogged through the crowd alongside Dominic.

"I thought you might like it." He said, weaving through the chattering crowd and creating a path for Amara to follow in.

"How did you know that was going on?" She queried, struggling to keep up with him. People were literally everywhere. They were on all sides, milling around, bumping into Amara and at some points separating her from Dominic.

"It's the Shakespeare in the summer series. They perform every Saturday at 10 in the summer." Turning around he reached back and grabbed her hand pulling her past two garrulous old men discussing the significance of Katherine's unruliness in relation to women's position in society.

"Don't get lost." He teased pulling her arm through his so that they were linked together.

"Trying not to." She assured him looking around at all the different people and lights and sounds and smells. She was convinced that the city was one constant stimulus no matter where you were or what you were doing.

"So what did you think of Katherine's portrayal in this production? Too impudent?"

Amara laughed, "The more impudent the better!"

She continued to prattle on about the importance of Katherine's impudence in contemporary terms as Dominic slowly maneuvered her through the crowd. Somewhere along the way they ended up at Times Square milling in and out of the people. Dominic was pointing out the sights and narrating the interesting aspects of each. Amara stayed relatively quiet, soaking in everything she could with her senses. After being trapped in the mansion for some eight months without anyone but Dominic, she found the congestion of people exhilarating. So much in fact that she hardly noticed Dominic had slipped his arm through hers.

Eventually Times Square became the Garment District and the Garment District became Greenwich Village and Amara was starting to get tired. Her legs were beginning to get that numb, tense feeling they always got when she had been standing for too long at the library.

"Can we head back soon? I'm starting to get tired."

"Of course," Dominic said, looking down at her with a smile, "I'll get a cab."

Releasing her arm he walked to the edge of sidewalk and stared intently up 5th avenue for an empty cab.

"Can't we just do the disappearing trick?"

He laughed and turned back to her, "With all these people around? No. We would almost certainly draw attention. Besides I need to stop by the front desk at the hotel and get another copy of the key so you can come and go as you please."

Amara's heart gave a quick jolt and then started to speed up.

"Are you really going to let me wander around New York City all by myself?"

"Why not?" He asked, his attention back on the road, "I think you can take care of yourself."

"But what if I run away?"

"Are you going to run away?"

"Well no, but what if I did?"

"You wouldn't get very far."

Amara swallowed as a cab pulled up to the corner right by Dominic.

"Come on." He said, turning back to her and extending his hand.

Amara stepped forward and took his hand.

0-0-0-0-0

When they arrived at the Plaza Hotel lobby Amara was surprised by the amount of activity. All manners of people were up and about decorating the gilt lobby with satin suits, diamonds, stilettos, and the occasional fur coat. The men laughed casually and the women's voices sparkled. Amara looked down at her jeans and t-shirt, feeling exceptionally conspicuous. Dominic on the other hand was wearing a black blazer, with a black dress shirt and black pants. What Amara had always thought to be an overly formal sense of style now showed its inspiration in the clusters of people milling about the lobby. He could easily slip into any circle of people and blend in. As Amara thought about this Dominic slipped his hand into hers and gently tugged her towards the front desk.

Even though there were a great number of people in the lobby there was nobody at the front desk and they were able to walk right up to a salt-and-pepper haired man clacking away feverishly on his keyboard. He looked up at Dominic's figure approaching and a smile spread across his face.

"Mr. Lucenzia! Back so soon?"

"Yes. I just couldn't stay away."

"Well we're happy to see you again sir! Is there anything I may assist you with?"

"I just need an extra copy of my key for my wife."

Amara jolted and accidently tugged her hand free. Is that what he told people here? That he had a wife? And was that how he intended to keep her from running away?

"Ah Mrs. Lucenzia! It is so nice to meet you! We hope you enjoy your time here at the Plaza. If you need anything at all please don't hesitate to call down to the front desk and ask for me, Robert."

"Oh, umm thank you." Amara blushed, embarrassed to be noticed. She must have looked like some kind of waif in this grand place with her worn jeans and hair that hadn't been combed since that morning. She most certainly did not look like anybody's wife.

"Let me go get your key and I will be right back. Please excuse me." Smiling, Robert briskly stepped away from his computer and disappeared behind a door.

"Are you all right?" Dominic asked, learning with one elbow against the counter, like some gothic James Dean.

"I'm fine," she assured him, "I'm just tired."

"We can head straight to bed as soon as we get the extra key." He said, reaching over to brush a piece of hair behind her ear. Amara stiffened. Dominic only laughed. "You're so jumpy tonight."

"I'm just…"

"Here is the extra key." Robert had reappeared holding out an electronic swipe card. "Is there anything else I may assist you?"

"No, thank you Robert." Dominic took the key and held it out for Amara who took it gingerly from his fingers, afraid her freedom might be an illusion.

"You're welcome. It was so nice meeting you Mrs. Lucenzia. Have a pleasant evening."

0-0-0-0-0

Amara wasn't lying about being tired just to mask her real feelings—she did feel ready to crawl into bed and sleep for a solid ten hours or so.

As they entered the suite Dominic said he had to make a phone call and excused himself to the balcony. While he was busy with that Amara decided to locate her bedroom in order to speed up the process of getting into bed. She hadn't seen an extra bedroom when they first got to the suite but she was sure there had to be another bedroom.

It only took a few minutes to go through the entire suite and she had found everything but another bedroom. Drained, she sat on the couch, feebly scanning the headline of the New York Times, waiting for Dominic to come in and solve the mystery of the missing bedroom.

"Anything interesting?"

Amara jumped for a second time that evening, the paper jolting in her hands. "Uhh no, not really."

"There never usually is on the front page. The best stuff is in the

Entertainment section." He said, leaning over the back of the chaise directly over Amara's left shoulder. Her body tightened and Dominic, presumably perceiving it, laughed.

"Are you ready for bed?"

"Yes!" She said, springing up out of the chair. "Where is it?"

Dominic laughed, "Right in front of you."

Amara looked straight ahead into the master bedroom. "Yes I saw that one but where is the other bedroom?"

"There is no other bedroom."

Jolting was starting to become a habit for her. "There are no other bedrooms hidden away in here?"

"It's a one bedroom suite."

"Where should I sleep?"

"In the master bedroom."

"Where are you sleeping?"

"In the master bedroom."

"With the one bed?"

"I believe there is only bed and the Plaza doesn't do roll away beds for the suites."

"I'll just sleep on the couch."

Dominic shook his head, "Nonsense. The bed is quite spacious. I will stay on my side and you can stay on yours. You will never know I'm even there."

0-0-0-0-0

Dominic lied. Amara did know he was there—all night long. He didn't snore or kick or steal covers, but then again, he didn't do anything. He didn't even breathe. He was just…there. The force of his being was so encompassing and tenacious though that it made it difficult for her to relax. Was he always this…stifling? Had she just never noticed it?

Amara slept on and off for several hours before finally giving up around nine am. At least the sleeplessness had given her a chance to plot out her daylight excursion. If Dominic really meant to give her free reign in the daylight hours (and something in her stomach told her to remain skeptical) she was going to take full advantage of it.

Sliding out of bed carefully so as not to arouse Dominic, she tiptoed to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the day. Emerging a little while later the sight of Dominic stopped her short. Throughout most of the night and into the morning she had tried to keep from looking at him—afraid of what she would see. Now, like Medusa's victims, she wished she hadn't looked.

He was lying cold and dead in the bed, with the covers hitting mid-chest. His skin was the color and consistency of marble and his dark curls appeared matte and part of the marble in the sunless room. No part of his body. Not event his chest. He didn't breathe.

It made sense—what use did an undead vampire have for breathing? But still it sent shivers up her spinal column.

Quickly she walked away and towards the dresser to pick up the key card. To her surprise a stack of cash and a note accompanied the key card. Carefully moving the cash off the note she quickly scanned its contents.

_Dearest Amara, _

_ Here is $2000 for your expenses. If you need more it's in the safe. The room key will open it. _

_ -Dominic_

Amara looked back and forth between the note and the cash. $2000? And more in the safe? She knew cities were expensive but what did he think she would be doing? And did he really have that much money to just be handing out to her?

As she asked that last question she grimaced at her own idiocy. Of course he did. She helped with his some of his accounting—and with the files he let her work on he was easily raking in hundreds of thousands of dollars. And those were just the accounts he let her see. Who knew what he was making on the accounts he kept in that password-protected folder.

With these new perspectives of Dominic starting to get to her, Amara quickly pocketed a couple hundred dollars (she wasn't going to walk around New York City with $2000 in her jeans pocket!), the key card and left.

Riding down in the elevator she tried to let the uneasiness in her stomach fade and let the bubbling excitement take over. She was in New York City! One of the greatest cities in the world and she was here without chaperone. For a few weeks she wouldn't be confined to the cold, dark, lifeless mansion.

At last reaching the ground floor the doors of the elevator slid back letting the sunlight hit her full in the face. The bubbling excitement instantly began to boil over. Unable to keep the smile off her face she stepped outside the bounds of the elevator and out into the city.


End file.
